


Rewinding The Tapes

by a_suspiciously_large_pig (Queenie_D)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse Prevented, Caretaking, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jon is acting like an ass again, M/M, Martin has a real rough time, Memory Loss, No beta we die like archival assistants, Trigger Warning Listed In Chapter Summaries, but at a slight cost, everyone is having trauma brought back up, it's another Jon Forgets Everything fic y'all, oh yes it's also a No Apocalypse Because Martin Came Back Early fic as well, post MAG 160
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29125860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_D/pseuds/a_suspiciously_large_pig
Summary: As Martin watched the pages burn, he felt his gaze being drawn to those few words that he could still see, unable to look away from them. In particular his eyes seemed drawn to one sentence that hadn't yet begun to blacken and curl;"I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself"He was only pulled away from the trance it had him under when he heard the sound of a body collapsing on the floor.-Martin prevents the end of the world, but not without consequences.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 86
Kudos: 228





	1. Statements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin goes back for his phone, and he doesn't like the sound of that statements Jon's reading.
> 
> TW: Manipulation (the Jonah Magnus statement), seizures/seizure like symptoms, panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello hello, it's new fic time. My other two fics so far are just big ol' fluff fests, so I decided it was about time for some good good Sad Boi Hours. And I actually planned this one through all the way before I started writing it hahaha, we love a bit of growth.  
> I hope you enjoy!

"Of course I'll let you know if I see any good cows."

Slipping on his shoes and his coat, Martin made his way out the door. It was a nice day out, a little on the warm side for this time of year but with a nice breeze blowing that kept everything comfortably cool, and just few clouds drifting across an otherwise perfectly blue sky. Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, Martin started down the path that lead to the safehouse. He could certainly get used to this.

Martin had always thought he was a city person. He'd always lived in the city, so it had made sense that he would be a city person. The sound of noisy streets and emergency sirens and your neighbors who forgot how thin the walls of their apartment actually are, he hadn't thought he could live without it. He'd always assumed that all that background noise was good for him in a way, that if it was too quiet he'd be stuck with nothing but his thoughts to listen to. His time spent lost in The Lonely seemed to have confirmed that to him. 

But being out here made him realize that he might have been wrong about all that. Sure it was quiet here, but it was a nice quiet, a gentle quiet. And it was actually gentle, too, not like the Lonely. The quiet there had been oppressive, leaving you stranded with nothing and no-one except the very worst parts of your mind. He'd only called it gentle there because, well, with everything else he'd been through since he started in the archive, it had felt gentle in comparison. It had almost felt right in that moment. It wasn't until Jon led him out that it hit him just how bad it had actually been in there.

No, this was nothing like the Lonely. There was warmth and colour and life here. This place had the kind of quiet that was a comfort rather than cruel. Quiet without being silent. The wind ruffling through the grass, the gentle pattering of rain against windows, the soft creak of an old house. The bedspring groaning slightly as someone tosses beside you. Lots of little noises to remind you that you weren't alone, without them feeling quiet to overbearing like the sounds of the city. It was one of the many things Martin was learning to love about Scotland.

When Martin stopped to think about it, he could see himself spending the rest of his life like this. He wondered if Jon felt the same way. The idea of it always made a little spark of excitement flutter in his chest.

Though he wouldn't admit it to anyone out loud, Martin was a romantic at heart. Despite his best efforts he would find himself swept up in a sea of emotions each time someone found there way into his heart. In his idle moments he would catch himself dreaming up ridiculous scenarios that were right out of some cheesy romcom, composing lines of poetry to try and describe just how enamored he was, all sorts of sappy stuff. There was just so many feelings when he liked someone, he couldn't help himself from those little moments of fantasy. And now that he loved someone, and that someone loved him back, there was no stopping those little snippets of some idyllic life creeping into his mind. He'd imagined a life with Jon plenty of times back at the institute, sure, but that had all just been wishful thinking back then. Now it almost seemed like a possibility. That he might actually have a chance at a happy life, with someone who loved him - actually, truly loved him - by his side. That he might be able to do things like get married, adopt a pet, grow old together with someone. All those simple, domestic things that had seemed to unobtainable for so much of his life. It might have been a bit early into their relationship to start thinking about these things, but after everything they had happened to them, everything they'd had to fight through to get here, Martin thought he deserved to dwell on what felt like the first real bit of hope he'd had in years. 

For the first time in a long time, Martin was happy. Absolutely, undeniably happy. So what if he wanted to imagine what his life might be life with Jon. If he wanted to indulge himself a little, he was going to do just that.

Looking the the ridge just up ahead, Martin picked up his pace. It was usually just over this hill that he would see the cows on his walk. That was undeniably another one of the benefits of being out here. He and Jon had both been more than a little excited the first time they saw the cows, and since then they made a point of trying going to see them as much as they could.

He felt a little bad that Jon might have to miss out on seeing them today. Especially now that the wind was picking up more, that always did fun things with their shaggy fur. Martin decided that he was going to take some pictures if he saw them, he knew Jon would appreciate that. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed for his phone and...

Wait...

_Damn_.

Being off the grid meant neither of them were in so much of the habit of keeping their phones on them at all times. It wasn't completely uncommon for one of them to forget their phone on walks to trips down to the village. It wasn't really that big of a deal, but damn if it wasn't annoying sometimes.

Pausing, he took in his surrounding. He wasn't really _that_ far from the safehouse. He was only walking for maybe five minutes at most. It would only take him a moment to walk back, grab his phone and be back on his way, and he probably wouldn't even have to disturb Jon in the process.

It was settled, then. He turned around and began making his way back to the safehouse.

As he neared the cottage, he glanced up at the sky. Maybe he should grab an umbrella while he'd here as well. The clouds were starting to gather pretty quick. He didn't mind walking in the rain much at all, but he just wasn't in the mood to get soaked today.

He was careful to tread lightly as he entered the house, trying to keep the old floorboards from creaking too loudly. It really shouldn't matter if these was background noise in the recordings, since it wasn't like these ones were going to end up in the archives or anything, but it had just been so long since Jon had read any statements, he didn't want to risk disturbing him. He'd seen how Jon had begun to slow down bit by bit since they arrived here, as the effects of Peter's statement started to wear off. Martin might not have been happy that his boyfriend needed to be sustained on a diet of other people's trauma, but it wasn't like Jon was trilled about it either. They really just had to make do with what they had.

Jon's voice carried through the little cottage as Martin quietly searched for his phone. It was a comfort to listen to him, even if it was one of the statement. Those things had never sat right with Martin, but even eldritch horrors could have a bit of comfort in them when it was Jon reading them. Another reminder of there being someone else there with him.

Heading in the direction of their bedroom to search for his phone there, Martin peaked a look at Jon as he read. It was rare Martin ever got to _see_ Jon reading statements back at the institute. Usually whenever he walked in on Jon reading statements it would pull his attention away from them pretty quickly, so he'd only ever catch glimpses for him. Just that brief moment of him hunched over his desk, engrossed in the words in front of him as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever read. He always looked so strangely content in those moments. But that wasn't how he looked now.

As soon as Martin saw him he knew something was off. There was just something about the way he was sitting, or how his shoulders were tensed. Maybe it had been something in his voice, but it raised a red flag in Martin's mind.

"Jon?"

There was no response. Jon just kept reading.

"Jon!" Martin called louder this time, but still nothing. He moved closer him and noticed how he shook ever so slightly, he whole body visibly stiff. This close he could also hear what Jon was saying much more clearly.

"- _possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s ill-timed retirement plans. Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer. It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive_. _Because_ -"

Martin's blood ran cold.

They hadn't been safe from Elias after all.

Rushing around to his front, Martin could now see the look of terror that was plastered across Jon's face. Despite the rest of him, though, his mouth appeared to be moving without hesitation, rattling off every sentence written in front of him with ease. Martin knew enough about some of the Beholding's little tricks and the effect those statements could have to know that Jon's reading was not being done under his own will. 

"Jon? Jon, what's going on, what's happening?" Martin asked him frantically, still with no answer.

Starting to feel desperate, he reached for Jon's shoulders, giving him a shake. With his hands on him he could feel just how strained his muscles were, like this statement had locked him in place. There was still no reaction from him for several seconds, but then, with visible effort, one hand pulled away from the paper, shooting over to take hold of Martin's arm with an almost painful grip. The rest of him kept on reading, but that hand was enough of a cry for help for Martin.

"Alright, ok, you're with me, um, ok, we can fix this. We can fix this." Martin started rambling, not totally sure if he was trying to reassure Jon or himself, "W-we're gonna...we're..."

He wrenched the paper out of Jon's hands.

As soon as the statement was out of Jon's line of sight, he went completely still, making a quiet, choked off noise as the words died on his lips. His eyes were blown wide, staring into nothing, and his mouth hung open slightly. It looked to Martin disturbingly like someone had pressed a pause button on him.

But he wasn't reading the statement anymore. That was good. Martin didn't know exactly what Elias was doing, but he had heard enough to know that this statement was dangerous. Between the effect it had on Jon and the words " _lynchpin for this new ritual_ " playing over and over in his head, he also suspected that nothing good was going to happen if Jon got to the end of it.

He looked down at the paper in his hand, focusing on not letting himself actually read any of the writing it. There wasn't even a question about what he needed to do next.

Looking back to Jon for just a moment, he ran a hand down his arm a few times, careful to keep the pages out of his line of sight, "Ok, ok, we're going to fix this. You're going to be alright. I promise. You are going to be alright."

Martin took off towards the kitchen sink, tossing the statement into it. He then went to the drawer where they kept a box of matches. Striking one, he threw it into the sink along with the statement, then another after it for good measure. The paper caught quickly enough, a few flames growing as they spread across them. He stood close by, making sure that every last bit of ink was destroyed with a small twist of satisfaction in his chest. There was a type of poetic justice somewhere in this, watching Elias's- or Jonah's or whoever's - little plan go up in smoke just like those statements Martin had burned over a year ago. 

As Martin watched the pages burn, he felt his gaze being drawn to those few words that he could still see, unable to look away from them. In particular his eyes seemed drawn to one sentence that hadn't yet begun to blacken and curl;

_I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself._

He was only pulled away from the trance it had him under when he heard the sound of a body collapsing on the floor.

In and instant Martin's thoughts turned back to Jon. Turning around, he looked to where Jon had been frozen just a moment ago, and saw that he was no longer sitting there. Looking to the floor, Martin saw where Jon now was, sprawled out on his back unconscious. It looked as though his body had given out as soon as the statement lost it's effect on him, knocking him out cold. Martin could see how his limbs were out at uncomfortable looking angles, as well the way that they convulsed, making his whole body shake along with their spasming. 

A new panic flooded Martin's mind as he ran back over to Jon, but he did his best to keep it at bay. It wouldn't be any help to either of them if Martin had a panic attack right now. No, he needed to stay calm. He needed to do something. Kneeling beside Jon, Martin searched through his memories for things doctors had told him as a teenager. His mother had had a few seizures back when he was younger, so he'd learned what to do when she had them, and this was seizure, right? It look enough like one, even it might have been supernatural in origin. Did it really matter? Martin didn't have time to consider what else it might be. He had to do something.

He shoved the furniture out of the way first. Jon might heal quickly most of the time nowadays, but it was still probably in their best interest to not get him any more scars or bruises than he already had. Then he pulled off his jacket, folding it quickly and placing it under Jon's head, before carefully rolling him so that he laid on his side rather than his back. That he definitely remembered being told to do. Something about helping with breathing or whatever. Giving Jon a once over, he made sure there wasn't anything that he needed to take off his. He hadn't been wearing his glasses, which he sometimes didn't when he read statements - didn't really need them for statements he'd told Martin - and there was nothing tight around his neck that Martin needed to worry about. 

"It's ok, Jon, it's ok." His voice was trembling ever more than the hand he was stroking across Jon's back, "I'm here. It's ok. I'm here. I'm right here with you."

The shaking continued. Martin considered calling 999 briefly, but that wasn't really an option. Even if he knew where his phone was right now, it wasn't like they had signal, and who knew how long it would be for anyone to get to them. Besides, he wasn't leaving Jon alone if he could help it. So he stayed there, sitting beside Jon, waiting this to end. He continued whispering quiet reassurances, repeating them over and over again, hoping that maybe, if he was lucky, Jon could hear him.

* * *

The seizure had stopped after a few minutes, but Jon had remained unconscious. Martin waited there on the floor with him, but after ten minutes, the panic he'd been ignoring made itself known again. He'd moved Jon from the floor to the bed after about twenty minutes of waiting, deciding that if anything, Jon should at least be comfortable. Once Martin was satisfied with the way he'd positioned Jon, he grabbed a chair and placed it beside, where he remained for the last hour and a half.

It was an all too familiar position to be in. Martin tried very hard to keep memories of hospital rooms out of his thoughts. The room smelt unsettlingly like antiseptic that he knew was not there.

Instead, Martin focused on keeping an eye on Jon, his fingers rarely moving from the pulse point at Jon's wrist. He had a heart beat, at least, and he was breathing. Sure, his breathing was shallow and labored, and his pulse was weak enough that Martin had had to focus harder than he would have liked to to find it a few times, but it was something. Something that told Martin that he was still alive, and that maybe, _maybe_ he would be alright. Maybe he would wake up and be fine and everything could just go back to the way it was.

Martin wasn't ready to consider the other way this could go. He refused to consider it. They had made it this far, he was not going to lose Jon now. He couldn't. 

The bedroom now had a soft golden hue to it, since the sun was beginning to set. The warm light from the window seemed entirely discordant with how cold the room felt to Martin. The beauty of a sunset felt like an insult to him. How dare things be beautiful at a time like this? The contrast made every ugly thing he was feeling come that much more into focus.

His eyes stung. From the tears he was had been holding back or from how tired he felt, he wasn't sure. But they were sore. He could close them, just for a second, just to give them a bit of rest...

The bed creaked.

Martin's eye's shot open again, his find back at full attention. The bed had just creaked. For over two hours Jon hadn't stirred, but the bed definitely just creaked. Watching him closely, waiting for any signs of what might have caused the noise, when Jon turned his head. Excitement overtook Martin as, slowly, Jon's body shifted, testing out tired joints and sore muscles. His breathing was deeper now, his chest raising and falling a healthy looking amount. After a minute of movement, a small sound escaped Jon's throat, nothing more than a groan, but still enough to make Martin's heart soar.

"Jon?" Martin breathed, giving his hand a squeeze.

Jon's eyelids lazily drifted open, his eyes glassy and unfocused beneath them. He looked up to where Martin was, seeking out the source of the noise.

"Martin?" His voice was full of confusion, and carried a tone in it that Martin hadn't heard it nearly two years.

The way that Jon looked at him made Martin's blood go cold all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I will mention that updates are probably going to be a bit slower on this fic than they have been with my other ones thus far. Unfortunately this semester is kicking my ass, and so I have kinda limited time to work on this guy (or rather, I am going to limit my time to work on this guy, because otherwise I will ignore my homework and just try and write fanfiction instead, which is not great when I'm already very behind in work hahaha). I'm hoping to have up at least one chapter a week, I think that should be plenty doable. No promises to exactly how often I'll update, as I do kinda take a "it gets done when it gets done" approach, but I promise I will try to not keep you waiting for updates for too long.


	2. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wakes up, and Martin has a new problem to deal with
> 
> TW: Memory loss, panic, accusation of kidnaping, anger and mistrust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes, I did have Sigyn by The Mechanisms stuck in my head while plotting this fic, thank you for noticing :) I did a couple rewrites on this chapter, and a decent chunk of it was written very late at night/very early in the morning, so hopefully it is all coherent.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left a comment or a kudos on the last chapter, I really appreciate it!

A tense silence filled the room as Jon blinked up at him a few times, confusion mounting steadily across his face as the world came more into focus for him. Martin swallowed down the anxiety raising up in him. He had just woken up, he was probably still disoriented. That had to be it. That had to be why he was looking at him like that.

Martin slid his chair away from the bed, just a little bit.

"Martin?" Jon's voice was rough and stiff as he talked, "Martin why are you...what are you doing?"

"Hey, it's ok, Jon, it's ok. Just take it easy." He kept his voice soothing despite the pounding beat of his heart, "You had a...something happened to you, but it's alright, you're going to be fine."

Jon's confusion seemed to only grow deeper at that, and it was now quickly being joined by his own look of anxiety, "What? What the hell are you talking about? What on earth is going on right now?"

He began to look around the room as he became more aware of his surroundings, squinting his eyes to try and make out the details. When a slow, searching hand came up to touch his face around his eyes, Martin realized Jon still didn't have his glasses on. Martin stood from his chair and grabbed them off the dresser where they usually sat. It was rare that Jon wore them anymore, so they usually just stayed in their case atop the little chest of drawers. 

"Here." Martin handed them to him, careful to give him his space. Jon quickly took him from him, throwing them on and taking another scan around the room. This clearer look didn't appear to do anything for the dread spreading across Jon's face.

"W-wh-where...where am I? What is this place?" Jon's voice was shaking now.

Martin could feel his heart in his throat, but he tried to convince himself that this was fine. Both of them had woken up from nightmares more than once since being here where it took them a while to get their bearings. It could be disorienting waking up from something like that in a place that still wasn't totally familiar. He just needed sometime to calm down, then everything would be fine.

"Jon, listen to me, you're safe. It's going to be alright." Martin began muttering his usual reassurances, though they felt strange to say with this much distance between the two of them.

Jon, however, didn't appear to be calming down.

"Martin, what is happening? Where is this, where am I?"

"Jon-"

"And why the hell am I in bed? This isn't my bed. This isn't even my room. What am I doing?"

"Please, Jon, you need to take it easy-"

Placing his hands under him, Jon pushed himself to sit up in the bed, wincing as he did. Instinctively Martin took a step towards him, his hands going out to help him up and comfort him. The second Jon noticed his hands, however, he flinched away from them, holding his own arm up like a barrier between him and Martin.

"Don't touch me!" Jon blurted out, staring at Martin with wide eyes. It was the same look he had seem on Jon back when Jon had questioned him about the letter he left behind after he moved out of the archives. Back when Jon had thought Martin might have been trying to kill him. And even then he'd never reacted quite like this. Even at the height of his most paranoid moments, even after cruel things that had been done to him and all the scars they had left, he had never recoiled like this when Martin would try to touch him. Now he looked terrified at just the thought of Martin putting him hands on him.

Taking a few steps back away from Jon, Martin help his hands up by his head, "I'm not going to touch you. I promise, I will not touch you if you don't want me to."

That brought a trace of composure to Jon. It was a comfort to Martin that some small part of Jon still seemed to trust him.

"Right...right, well..." Clearing his throat, Jon pulled himself together as much as he could, sitting up and locking eyes with Martin, "What I want is for you to give me some answers."

"Sure. Of course, I can do that." Martin nodded, "What do you want to know?"

"Where the hell are we?"

"This is Daisy's safehouse. We're in Scotland. Rural Scotland."

"Daisy? Who the.." Jon shook his head, waving his hand as if to dismiss the thought, "Not important. Why Scotland?"

With how panicked Jon still looked, Martin was hesitant to go into too much detail. It was clear that he was still disoriented from what happened to him, and as much as Martin didn't want to withhold anything from him, he wasn't sure how Jon would handle being reminded of everything that had happened in London a few weeks prior. After a moment to think about it, Martin settled on, "It wasn't safe in London anymore. Bad things...bad things happened. You weren't safe there. Neither of us were. This was the best place for us."

There was a moment where Jon paused to consider this. The last tiny sliver of hope left in Martin wondered if maybe that was it, that was what sparked his memory and he would remember where they were and what was happening. But then Jon's expression turned dark, his brow furrowing ever so slightly as he continued to stare at Martin. That moment of hope was over as quickly as it had started.

"Why were you...watching me? While I was asleep." This question came out in almost a hiss, causing Martin to inch even further away.

"You weren't asleep. You were unconscious." He responded with as neutral a voice as he could, worried that too much emotion might only deepen Jon's clear mistrust, "You collapsed earlier, and I brought you in here. I was watching you because I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Once again Jon stopped, his eyes drifting away from Martin to take another look at the room. His gaze settled on the window for a few seconds, looking out to the green hills that surrounded them for kilometers. He curled in on himself, just slightly, his face contorting into a look of worry that made Martin's stomach twist.

"Why?" Jon whispered, just barely audibly, "Why did you bring me here? What are you planning?"

"I already told you why we came here, London isn't..." He trailed off, the final part of the question registering in his mind, "Wait a minute, what do you mean by 'what am I planning'?"

Jon glared at him in a way that was less threatening than it was fearful, "I'm assuming you brought me here for a reason. Well, you've already succeed in getting me here, and you said you would answer my questions, so I think I have a right to know what you're going to do to me."

"Do to you? What the hell does that mean?" Martin could no longer keep the upset pitch from slipping into his voice, "Hold on a minute, d-do you think I kidnapped you or something?"

The stare that Jon gave him was answer enough. The hurt that had been building inside Martin gave a twist, knocking a gasp out of him.

"Jon, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me?" Jon bit back.

"Yes, Jon, wrong with you." Martin snapped, only just keeping himself in check, "I would never hurt you. And that includes not fucking kidnapping you. You came here completely willingly, last time I checked. Where did you even come up with this?"

Jon's expression shifted even more bitter, "Well excuse me for being suspicious when I wake up in a strange place with someone I only met a few days ago hovering over me! Personally, I don't think that's too absurd of an interpretation!"

The world around them froze for a beat as Martin took in what he had just heard. He stood there silent for several seconds in disbelief, Jon glaring up at him, waiting for a response.

"Wait..."Martin said in a cautious tone, "Wait, w-what did you just say? A-about how long we've known each other."

Some of the anger on Jon's face disappeared, replaced by thinly veiled concern, "I-I said that we've only known each other for a few days. Why? I don't exactly see how that's relevant right now."

He hadn't known exactly what he had expect, but this...Martin took a deep breath to steady himself. He could see that Jon was looking increasingly worried by the second, and he didn't want his own panic to add to that. 

Martin locked eyes with Jon, speaking as calmly as he possibly could, his voice surprisingly level, "Jon, I need you to be completely honest with me right now; What is the last thing you can remember?"

The question startled Jon, the worried lines on his face growing even deeper.

"I...I remember being in my office...in the archive. I think that's the last thing I remember. I remember going home the night before but...no, the last thing I remember is being in my office. Later in the day, I believe. After lunch. I remember...I remember the preliminary research Sasha had brought me on some of the statements. I also remember those statements had quickly gone into my discredited pile after reading that research. I remember you apologizing for that dog incident for the fifth time. And...oh, I remember that Tim thought he had found a solution for the statements who's audio files kept corrupting on my laptop. He had brought me...he'd brought me...something..."

"The tape recorder." Martin breathed, just loud enough for Jon to hear it. He ran his hands over his face as he tried to wrap his head around this. Listening to Jon describe that day, Martin realized he vaguely remembered it himself. It had been their third or fourth day in the archive. He could just recall one of the many apologies he had made following the dog incident, and though he couldn't remember Sasha, he definitely remembered Tim that day. Specifically, he remembered Tim showing him the dusty old tape recorder that he was bringing to Jon to record some statements that Tim had said were "giving him trouble". It had struck Martin as strange at the time, but now he truly understood the significance of it. That had been the day Jon recorded the statement about the Angler Fish. That had been the day Jon had recorded his first statement on the tapes. Martin felt as though all the blood had drained away from his face.

Jon's now trembling voice cut through his thoughts, "Martin? What's wrong? Why do you look so upset by that answer?" 

Martin closed his eyes. He didn't need to see Jon's reaction to this.

"Jon, that was over three years ago."

There was a long moment where the room was dead quite. Martin stood completely still, bracing himself for whatever might come next.

"No." Jon said softly, "No, that's not possible."

Opening his eyes, Martin scanned the room, his eyes landing on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Going over to it, he picked up his phone, turning the screen on so the date on it could be seen, "Look. 18th of October, 2018. That's today's date."

A new sort of horror was painted onto Jon's face now. He grabbed the phone out of Martin's hand, looking at the date in front of him with pure disbelief.

"No. No no no, this can't be real. It...your phone must be broke, or you've messed up your date settings. It can't possibly be 2018. That's...that's not possible. It can't be. It's 2015, I know that it is 2015. I can't have just lost three years of my life, I...it's _not possible_. This can't be real. No, someone has to be playing some cruel joke on me, or...or...I don't know, b-but this can't be-"

"What colour do you remember my hair being?" Martin asked, cutting his rambling off. He knew it must have sounded like a strange question, but also knew Jon wouldn't be satisfied until he had some sort of evidence.

"Your hair? Your hair is..." At that question Jon's eyes drifted up, finally registering the details of the man standing in front of him. The Lonely might not have left quiet as violent of a mark on Martin as many entities had left on Jon, but it was still an obvious one, "It's...it wasn't white."

"I realize that this sounds insane, but I need you to believe me."

Jon started as if he was going to try argue with him, tell him that he could have bleached his hair, perhaps, but as he moved to do it he caught a glimpse of his hand. Any last bit of fight there might have been left in Jon at that moment disappeared as his studied that burn scar. Martin watched with bated breath as Jon began to push the sleeve of his jumper up, taking in the array of small, round scars that were spread across the skin of his arm. 

"I...I think I need to be alone for a while." Jon said, his voice trembling. 

Without another word, Martin nodded, and carefully stepped out of the bedroom. He shut the door behind him, and pretended he couldn't hear the bitten off sob through it.

* * *

He didn't want to leave Jon alone. He didn't think he trusted Jon alone. But Jon needed space right now, and honestly, he did too. The cabin was small, thought, so there wasn't exactly much space to give with the two of them in there. So Martin went for a walk. It was starting to get dark out, but he couldn't find bring himself to care. He just needed to move, put some kind of distance between him and everything that had happened today. He had thrown his coat and shoes back on, and walked out the door, no real destination or plan in mind. 

The darkness of the lane was eventually broken when the lights of the village came into view. Martin had never been to the village at this time of day, and he was pretty sure he hadn't intended on coming here, but it was where his feet had taken him. It was quite, only a few people muddling about. Martin was at least glad there it was unlikely anyone would try to talk to him. He'd gotten to know a few of the people here since they arrived in Scotland, and as much as he might have liked them, talking to them was the last thing he wanted to do. Instead, he followed a familiar path towards where the little phone box stood.

He didn't even need the note she'd given them anymore. He'd read the number over enough times to have it memorized. Just punched it in and listened to it ring.

"Hello?"

"Basira?" Martin's voice was more strained than he would have liked it to sound. He hoped the crackly connection would cover it enough that she wouldn't notice.

"Martin? We just talked a few hours ago, what-"

"I know, I'm sorry." He sighed into the receiver, "It's not even...it's nothing urgent, really. I'm sorry to bother you again"

"No, it's fine Martin." He couldn't tell if she was being completely sincere or not. Though he was thankful for the distortion on the voices to cover up his own, it wasn't much help making Basira's usual dry tone any more decipherable, "I'm actually glad you called. There was something I wanted to mention to you."

"Oh? What's that?"

"At the institute today, I saw Elias."

" _What_?" The name alone was enough to put Martin on edge, but the fact that Basira had _seen_ him, alive presumably, added a another thread of fear into the tapestry of dread that had woven itself in Martin's chest.

_Of course he's alive_ , a bitter voice in Martin's mind told him. _Just think about what he did to Jon, of course the bastard is alive._

"I don't think I've seen him in weeks, but I saw him there today. And he was acting weird." This time the quality of the call didn't manage to hide the unease in her words, "It was earlier this afternoon when I saw him. He was just sort of standing there, like he was waiting for something, and staring up at the sky. He looked...confused, I'd say, and that is not something you see one him often. The prink likes to always think he's three steps ahead of everyone else, so it's rare you see him caught off guard. But I watched him for probably a minute, at least, and he just stood there. After a bit he moved, and then he caught sight of me, and trust me, if looks could kill, he would have struck me down there and then. And then he just walked away. I still have no clue what it was about, but I have a feeling it's not anything good."

Martin's throat felt tight, unwilling to speak. There was a stretch of silence before he got it to form words. "This...this happened a little less than three hours ago, didn't it?"

"Um, yeah, yeah just about. Maybe two and a half. But, yes, that was about when it happened. Why? How did you know that?"

"I, um, I think I know what that was about." Martin said weakly. There were tears starting to burn in his eyes that he refused to let fall, "It's the statements. The ones you mailed us. Or at least I think these are the ones you sent, who knows at this point. That's why I called actually. There was...they weren't all normal statements."

He could just make out a small gasp from the other end of the call, "Wait what? What exactly do you mean by not normal statements?"

"A ritual." He answered quickly, worried that if he hesitated with the answer he wouldn't be able to say it, "Like the Unknowing, or whatever The Peoples Church was doing with that dark star thing you two dealt with. Elia-er-Jonah, oh, fuck it doesn't matter what his name is, _he_ had a ritual disguised as a statement. Jon must have thought it was just another statement and read it and it...trapped him or something, did something to him. I didn't hear much of it, o-or read it or anything, but it sounded bad. I mean, like, end of the world bad."

There was a muffled sound that Martin interpreted as Basira muttering something under her breath, "But you stopped it, right? I mean, that's what Elias was probably doing standing there, waiting for his ritual to work or wondering why it didn't or whatever."

"Yeah. I stopped it." Despite his efforts, he felt a single spot of wetness begin to trail down his cheek. There was a few seconds where Basira didn't respond, and Martin suspected the call hadn't been able to hide how distressed he sounded after all.

"Why do feel like there's a 'but' coming." Another beat passed before Basira continued, her voice a even more serious than normal, "What happened to Jon?"

"He's alive." Martin said in a humorless chuckle, "He's alive, but he...he um...I don't know what happened exactly, but after I stopped Magnus's ritual, he collapsed, and when he came to...he didn't remember any of it. Not just what happened with the statement, it's...everything that happened with the archive. He doesn't remember anything. Nothing since he first used the tape recorder. Hell, he hardly even remembers..." He pauses again, choking on the words, "He hardly even remembers me. When he came to he started asking me all these questions. He actually thought I might have kidnapped him or som-"

"Wait, questions? Was he compelling you?" Martin started at the question slightly, but then Basira continued, "It's just that you said he didn't remember any of the supernatural stuff. If he's still compelling answers out of you despite that, that probably isn't a good sign."

For the first time, Martin stopped to think about it. When Jon had asked those question, he hadn't noticed anything, and the more he thought about them, the more he realized just how normal those questions had been. They had been upsetting, sure, but apart from his own desire to help Jon, Martin had felt no compulsion to answer them. Usual even when Jon didn't mean to pull an answer, his question still had the slightest edge of his powers. But these had had none of that. And as Martin continues to think about it, he realizes that the only thing really strange about those questions was that Jon had needed to ask them at all. It was the kind of information that The Eye would usually hand to Jon readily.

"No, he didn't compel me." Martin mumbled between increasingly heavy breaths, "Oh god, Basira...what have I done to him?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this ended up getting finished a lot soon then I expected, honestly. It also ended up a lot longer than I expected. I honestly wrote the phone call bit because I was worried I wouldn't have enough stuff in the rest of the chapter to be satisfied, but then I kinda did have enough stuff, but I also liked the phone call bit, so here we are.


	3. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions run high, old memories resurface
> 
> TW: Arguments, insults, distrust, references to Martin's childhood & mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, a few weeks ago: "Hmm, I think writing this JonMartin hurt/comfort thing I've been thinking about will be fun."  
> Me, writing this chapter after MAG194: "Or maybe not so fun"
> 
> Sorry this one took so long, btw. I've been swamped recently, but I'm still on reading week for the next few days, and my workload at school will be slightly less than it has been recently for a bit, so hopefully the next chapter or two will be out a little sooner.

The rain beat against the windows, driven in its brutal rhythm by the heavy winds howling across the highlands, thick grey clouds blocking out the midafternoon sun. The sounds at least gave Martin something to listen to that weren't his own thoughts, and something to blame his mood on that was a little less overwhelming.

He was staring down at one of the notebooks he'd brought with him to the safehouse. _Try and write some poetry, that'll help you clear your mind_ is what he'd told himself. But after what felt like hours looking at that blank page, he was starting to consider whether it was time to just give up on the attempt all together. He wasn't even sure where his pen was at this point. It had been dropped somewhere beside him on the couch, lost in the blankets that he'd used for his makeshift bed the past week.

A week. The thought of it reinvigorated that tight feeling in his chest he'd been trying to ignore. 

It certainly wasn't convenient. Martin wasn't a small guy, and the couch definitely wasn't the biggest. His back and joints had certainly voiced their protests for it. But it had just been the best option. It had become obvious to Martin in the past few days that Daisy had never intended this place to be for more than one person, and that included only having the one bed. As much as he would have preferred to sleep there, Jon needed it more than he did.

His memory appeared to not be the only thing that had been damaged after Jonah's statement. His body had taken just as much of a toll as his mind did. Even just sitting up in bed seemed upsettingly painful for him to do on his own. Martin had stocked up on painkillers, and had even found a cane for Jon to use, but like with most things, it was a fight to get him to use them. 

Martin had at least convinced him to let him take him to take him to see a doctor. The anxiety of two years of memories suddenly disappearing was apparently greater than his lingering mistrust of Martin, so he'd gone willingly to be examined. They still had the car they'd come to the safehouse in, so Martin had driven them to the closest hospital. The problem was, as seriously as they seemed to take them, they couldn't actually find anything wrong with Jon. There didn't appear to be any lingering damage from the seizure, nothing that could explain anything that was happening to him. Psychosomatic, that was the best they could come up with. They sent them home, told them to come back if anything got worse, and said to make sure Jon got lots of rest. 

Rest. For some reason even that Jon decided to be stubborn over. Insisted on staying up too long, pushing himself too much. He wanted to stay alert, not get caught with his guard down, Martin knew that was the reason he did it. Jon had pushed himself like this enough times back at the institute after Prentiss that he knew the pattern. But it was made all the worse not, since the exhaustion hit him so much harder. At times when it was bad enough it seemed to sent him into some kind of stupor, barely aware of what was going on around him, barely even actually awake. Martin hated to admit it, but he almost preferred those moments. Jon was just easier to deal with then, with him not so resistant of Martin trying to help him. It was wrong to think like that, and Martin felt awful when he did, but it was true. It was something he'd learned a long time ago. Taking care of someone was just easier when they weren't fighting against you so much. And Martin couldn't deny it was nice to get a break from, well..

He'd almost forgotten what Jon had been like back in 2015. Maybe it was just how different he had been in the past two years, how close they had gotten, but he didn't think he was ever quite this bad. Shut off, ornery, dismissive. Although, having your boss insult your work behind your back would have honestly been preferable to Martin than having your...something (he'd actually done quite well at avoiding thinking too hard about defining their current relationship status) making snide comments to your face.

But it wasn't all Jon's fault. Martin kept reminding himself that. Jon was scared. Jon was scared and hurt and confused. He couldn't blame him for acting out. How ever bad it was for Martin, he reminded himself it was worse for Jon. He just had to give him time and things would...they would be better. They had to get better. Jon would start to trust him again eventually, he just needed time to process. That was all. Just a little more time.

Martin shook his head. It wasn't good to get lost in his thoughts like that. It was too easy to think about possibilities he didn't want to consider when he did that. Thinking about those things made him feel a way that he really preferred not to. Foggy. Cold.

So Martin turned his attention back to the rain, listening at the pattering got louder and quieter as gusts of wind blew past the cabin. He was starting to grow to like the rain in Scotland. Back in London it was always just damp and grey when it rained, all soaking wet pavement and people grumbling about the whether as you walked by. At least here the rolling green hills made the rain a little more picturesque. Martin closed his eyes, letting himself slip away, thoughts lost to the rattling of the windows, and each creak and groan of the old building. 

He had just begun to drift off to sleep when he heard someone cry out. Eyes flying open, Martin looked to find Jon leaning heavily against the wall near the front door, legs clearly having given out under from the way he was crumpled on the floor, and the pained look on his face. Martin quickly pushed himself up off the couch, quietly sighing as he went to go and help him up.

"Christ, Jon. What the hell are you doing?" Martin asked, trying to keep the frustration from leaching into his voice. He reached out to take hold of Jon's arm, help him back to his feet and get him back to bed, but Jon pulled his arm away before he could get a grip. Martin took a half step back, looking down at where the other man was slouched on the floor, curling in on himself.

Jon didn't respond, but the way he was pointedly refusing to look at Martin spoke volumes to him.

"You were trying to run away, weren't you?" This question came out as a hushed sigh, breathy and tired.

Jon remained quiet, but the look in his eyes shifted slightly. They lost a bit of their stubbornness and resolve, replaced with something almost shameful.

Running a hand over his face, Martin took a breath, trying to gather what was left of his patience. He slipped back into that well practiced voice that he had so often used in his teen, and that he'd had to dust off over the past few days: calm, careful, passive, "I...I don't even know what to say to that, Jon. What were you thinking? You can hardly stand on your own for more than ten minutes, let alone walk anywhere. Not to mention the weather-"

"Maybe I just needed some fresh air, Martin." Jon bit out in a clipped, defensive tone.

"In the middle of a storm?" 

Jon's brows furrowed together more, the lines on his face carving even deeper, "What, I'm not allowed to even _think_ about leaving this damn cabin anymore?"

Martin let out a heavy sigh. This wasn't the first time they'd had an argument like this in the past few days. Jon had been pretty eager to pick fight. And Martin let him, just stood there and took it, told himself self it was just what Jon needed to do, because that was the easiest thing to do.

"You know that's not...Listen, if you want to leave, I won't stop you. I'm not trying to keep you locked up here-"

There was a short, humorless laugh from Jon, "You could have fooled me."

"Jon." Something he can't quite put a name on twists in Martin's gut. Guilt? Anger? He tried to ignore whatever it is. "That's not fair. I'm not forcing you to stay."

Jon rolled his eyes, "No, you're just watching everything I do and ushering me off bed when you've decided I've done too much."

"You need to rest." Martin stated.

"Yes, I am very well aware that I'm supposed to rest. I don't think I could not know that by now, what with you hovering around reminding me of it constantly." Jon said, his voice growing harsher by the second, "As if I wasn't already aware of how pathetic a state I'm in right now, I have you constantly pointing it out to me."

"I'm just trying to help."

"Well, I didn't ask you to! I didn't ask for your help! So why don't you go fuss over something else for once!" Jon shouted, loud enough that Martin flinched back at the noise.

In a way his voice sounded so undeniably _Jon_ when he said that. An awful mixture of the pretentious man Martin had known all those years ago, covering up his fear with obnoxious skepticism and a chilly attitude, and a hint at that desperate, broken down, painful tone that he had taken on more recently. A microcosm of all the people he had been in those archives laced into those angry words. It sounded so very Jon. And yet it wasn't just Jon that Martin heard in that moment. Because in that moment, whether it was from how he said it or just what he said, Jon sounded so much like Martin's mother.

Martin could feel something inside him break as it all came crashing down around him. Every bit of hurt that Martin had tried to ignore. Every time where his kindness was met with distain. His head flooded with memories of biting remarks playing back on tape, the dismissive tone in the demands to 'go put the kettle on', the belittling looks when he was only trying to help. So many things mixing together, so that he could hardly tell what was old and what was new anymore. Old wounds being torn back open. 

It was all just too much right now. And he couldn't hold it back anymore.

"Oh would you _get over yourself_!"

Jon's eyes went wide, "Wha-"

"God, do you think that _I'm_ enjoying this? Do you think I'm _happy_ about this? I know that this is hard for you, believe me, I do. I understand that you're angry and hurt and scared, but is it actually that fucking difficult for you to believe that I'm not exactly having a great time either? Has it just not occurred to you that maybe I'm having a hard time with this, too? And, quite frankly, Jon, you aren't exactly making this any easier for either of us!"

Jon was just gawking up at him now, speechless, so there was nothing to stop the words from continuing to tumble out of Martin, his voice escalating in a bitter crescendo.

"This sucks, Jon. This whole fucking mess of a situation, it sucks! And I'm trying to make the best of what we're working with, but it's hard to do that when you refuse to cooperate. I have been do my best to give you space, to let you have some semblance of independence. I avoid touching you, I hardly even talk to you, I'm doing everything I can to try and make you comfortable. But even with all that you keep treating me like...like this! I get it, you don't trust me, fine, whatever. But I don't know what else you want me to do! I don't know how I'm supposed to convince you that I actually just want you to be ok! And as if having you look at me like a goddamn stranger isn't bad enough already, you seem to still have it your head that I've gone and kidnaped you or something! I would honestly really love to know what exactly you think I'm trying to do with you, Jon, because I don't think even I'm pathetic enough to kidnap someone just to act as their fucking carer!"

"Do you think I like having to fuss over you like this? Do you think I like losing sleep worrying that your heart's going to give out in the middle of the night, or you've stopped breathing, o-or that one of these mornings you're just not going to wake up?" It was only when his voice broke that Martin became aware of the tears rolling down his face. Reaching up he tried to wipe them away, but they were quickly replaced by new ones falling freely from his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Martin tried to reign his emotions back in, lowering his shaking voice back down to a less frantic volume, "You're not well. And you need help. Whether you like it or not, it's the truth. And I refuse to just let you suffer while it's in my power to do something about it. And you know what, fine, you don't have to trust me. Hell, you don't even have to like me. But I'm not leaving you like this. You don't like it, tough."

The room was dead silence, apart from the weather outside. Jon was frozen in his spot on the floor, staring up at Martin with an expression that he couldn't quite pick apart. Shock was the most obvious part of it. Eyes blown wide and mouth agape. That made sense, really. The Martin that this Jon knew was still a push over, not someone he'd never have expected this from. The first time Martin had actually started to push back against Jon's disparaging comments wasn't until a couple months after they had been working together. And the Martin he'd been dealing with the last week hadn't been all that different than version of him he'd known those first few days in the archive. So of course Jon was shocked by meek, unassuming, docile Martin suddenly snapping like this.

There was something in that expression that looked almost like shame, as well. With everything Martin had just yelled at him, he could understand it. If it were Martin in his position, he suspected that he would certainly feel at least a little ashamed.

Meanwhile, the guilty part of Martin's mind, that part that he'd not quite been able to quite down lately, identified the fear in Jon's expression. Not like the fear that he had seen in Jon facing down every eldritch horror that had come for him. No, this fear was more akin to the way Jon had looked at him after Gertrude's body had been found. Normal, human fear. The fear of a small, fragile man, looking up at someone who he knew he had no way of defending himself against. It made Martin feel sick.

He pushed it all back down. He'd have time to worry about this later.

"Come on. You need to go back to bed." Martin said flatly, his voice sounding tired and wrung out. Kneeling down, he reached out for Jon again, and this time Jon made no attempt to pull away. Jon allowed himself to be gently guided back to his feel, eyes glued to the floor so as not to meet Martin's eyes. Martin kept his hold on Jon as he walked him back to the bedroom, careful to have as few points of contact as he could while still giving Jon the support he needed. Once he had helped Jon into the bed, he turned and left the room without another word, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

"Martin?"

The soft voice made Martin startle slightly. He had been spent most of the evening half dissociated, still processing through what happened earlier that day, so suddenly hearing his name had been a little more jarring than it usually was in the quiet cabin. Martin looked up from the tea he had started making himself, and turned to where the sound had come form in the kitchen doorway.

"Oh, Jon, sorry, I was just..." Shaking his head as if to clear it, Martin slapped on a mask of a smile and tried to act as though nothing was bothering him, "D-did you need something? Is everything alright?"

"I-I'm fine Martin, thank you." Jon shifted back and forth on his feet awkwardly, looking unsure of himself. It was only then that Martin noticed that Jon was using the cane he'd found for him. It was probably the first time he'd seen him use it without being reminded to, "I, uh, I was actually...I wanted to apologize. For earlier."

"What?" Of all the things Martin would have expected Jon to say, that was not one of them. Of all the things Jon had said in the past week, he hadn't apologized for any of them, and of all the days this was the one Martin felt he was least deserving of at apology, "No, no you don't need to apologize. That was all my fault really, I'm the one who should be apologizing. You're going through a lot right now, I can't even imagine what it must be like for you. It's not fair for me to be upset with you over it. I should never have blown up like that, and I'm sorr-"

Jon shook his head, "No, Martin, this isn't..." He paused, shutting his eyes tight. Running a hand over his hair, he let out a breath and started again, his voice falling into that professional sounding cadence he used so much back in when they first started together, "You were right. I haven't been making things any easier there past few days. For either of us. The way I've been treating you...it's been uncalled-for. I recognize that you're just trying to help and be kind, and I have been taking my frustration out on you. That was wrong of me to do to you. And I'm sorry for that."

For a long few seconds Martin stood there, the conflict of emotions running through his head rendering him speechless. All he was able to do was stare across at Jon, taking in the nervous way he shifted in place, how his hands wrung against the handle of his cane. At least with everything that happened, Martin could still recognize that look in Jon's eye that he got when he was genuinely sorry.

"I um, t-thank you." He eventually managed to stammer out, the words disappointingly unfamiliar in his mouth. "I am sorry about yelling, though. Lost my temper there a little bit."

"It's alright, I understand. I think I might have deserved it, honestly. I don't believe I would have been able to hold back as long as you did if I was in your position." There was the faintest hint of a smile as Jon spoke that sent more warmth through Martin's chest than it had any right to, "You said it yourself, the situation we are in is less than ideal. I know that you have been trying your best to accommodate me, and I've...I've been making it rather hard to do that. I just...I hate feeling like...like I'm..."

"Helpless?" Offered Martin.

Jon nodded solemnly, "Yes. Helpless. It's frustrating. And...and it scares me. You've been the closest thing for me to take that all out on, and so..." Jon paused again, face tinged with remorse, "I'm going to try. To cooperate with you more, that is. I can't make any promises, but...I want to try to do better."

A bit of the tension Martin hadn't realized he was holding on to slipped away. This definitely was not going to solve anything, but it was something. Jon was at least willing to attempt to make things better, and that wasn't nothing. There was a feeling in the back of Martin's mind that if he was in a braver mood he would have called hope. 

Taking a half step to the side, Martin waved a hand towards where he was setting up the kettle the moment before. "Would you, um, like some tea? I was just about to make some."

Jon regarded Martin's peace offering for a moment, before a tight smile crept onto his face and he gave a nod, "That would be great. Thank you, Martin."

Martin got to work with the tea, while Jon took a seat at the small table. The air it the safehouse suddenly felt easier to breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could I have stopped this chapter after the fight to build suspense? Would it have been a good choice narratively? Yeah, sure, probably yes to both. But I didn't do that, because I am soft and I refuse to leave these two mad at each other like that, so we get quick resolutions here. It's my fic and I get to decide how easy the conflict resolution is.


	4. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long stories and good cows
> 
> TW: Vague discussion of canon typical violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact; I named these chapters when I first wrote the outline for this fic, and so the title for this chapter only barely makes sense because while writing it I ended taking it in a whole different direction that I originally planned. I managed to get a bit of what I originally had planned for this one in there, but what was originally going to be the main focus of this chapter is now just one tiny moment in it. Am I mad at this? No, I actually kinda like how this chapter turned out. Is there any point in me telling you think? Also no. Am I going just end up changing it later and almost completely rewriting this authors note? Probably.  
> Also, just because this is the first time I've written a fic like this and I'm paranoid about it, if any of you ever think I should have included something in the TW that I didn't, please do tell me. I feel like I've been doing ok with it, but I just want to make sure I don't miss anything.

As Martin placed the two mugs down on the table, Jon smiles up at him and muttered a quiet "thank you". It was stiff, and clearly not the most natural thing for him, but Martin still appreciated the effort he was putting in to it. It had been a few days now since their fight, and though things weren't perfect, they were definitely improving.

True to his word, Jon was trying. It was mostly little things, like making sure to thank him more, but it was making coexisting much easier than it was. The thing Martin probably appreciated most was his attempts to actually communicate how he was feeling, instead of bottling it up and taking it out on Martin later. They still had their moments, but apologies came much more readily now. Martin wasn't quite ready to call them friends yet, but their situation was much more comfortable than it had been before.

For one thing, Jon was willing to spend more time around him now. Not much talking, but they would at least do things like eat meals together. This also had the added benefit that Martin could now make sure Jon was actually eating, which he'd had his doubts about before. And so that's how they ended up sitting across from each other at the old wooden table, having a cup of tea in the afternoon.

They had fallen into their usual silence as they drank, not completely free of tension but still comfortable, until suddenly Jon looked up at Martin and announced, "I've been thinking about something recently."

"Oh?" Martin looked across at him curiously, "What's been on your mind?"

Jon sat up straighter, lacing his hands together in front of him on the table. It was a posture that reminded Martin of when he used to call him into his office to discuss work that Jon felt his follow up was insufficient for, and Martin couldn't help but squirm slightly under his gaze, "When I first...work up, I was asking you questions about this place; why we're here and such. You tried to explain it to me, but it was all rather vague."

Martin cringed at the memory of it, "Yeah. Sorry about that. You seemed really panicked already, I just didn't want to overwhelm you."

"Yes, well, I realized we haven't talk about it since then. Now that we're on better terms with each other, I think it's time we discussed it."

"Um, alright. We can do that."

"I want to be able to trust you, Martin, I do." Jon locked eyes with him, his face going very serious, "I think if I'm going to do that, though, I need you to be honest with me. I need to know how we ended up like this."

"Yeah, ok, that makes sense." Martin agreed. Thinking about all the things there was to tell Jon, though, he could feel himself start to tense. Jon finally seemed to be relaxing around him, he didn't want to send him back into a panic, "But I just want you to know, it's...it's a lot."

"Yes, I figured as much." Jon said, followed by a largely humorless laugh, "I can't imagine we would end up in a safehouse in the Scottish Highlands because everything was particularly terrific back home."

Martin let out his own halfhearted chuckle, "That's a good point. But I just wanted to make sure you knew that. Well, I guess the easiest things to start might be the institute."

Jon nodded, giving a small, affirming hum, "I suspected it had something to do with this."

Tilting his head, Martin raised an eyebrow at Jon, surprised by that response. Without even thinking about it, he quickly scanned Jon face for any signs of memories, "You did?" 

"Well, it's just that it's the two of us here, and the common factor between us is work, so it made sense that the institute would have something to do with up being here." Not quite what Martin had hoped for, but it did make sense. Jon then reached forward to the small pile off clutter that occupied the other end of the table, pulling a small stack of files from it, "Not to mention the statement-"

"No!" Fast as he was psychically able, Martin jumped to his feet, chair scraping audibly across the floor as he did. His hand came down on top of the statements before Jon could get then more than a centimeter off the table. For a moment he just stood there, this breath falling into a more panicked pace than he would have like. After Martin had burned Jonah's ritual and Jon had had his attack, he'd forgotten about the rest of the statements they'd received. He knew he should have gone through them to make sure Jonah hadn't hidden anything else in them, or just destroyed them all outright to be safe, but there had just been so many other things to worry about, it had slipped his mind. And with everything that had happened already, he was not about to trust these statements around Jon.

It was a good few seconds before Martin looked up from the pile of statements. He turned his gaze to Jon, and Jon just stared up at him from his seat, his expression full of worry, clearly concerned about how Martin was acting. Coming back to himself, Martin shut his eyes tight and took a few deep breaths, "Please, please don't...just don't touch these, Jon. Please. I...I need t-to...god I forgot about these. So stupid. I...they might be..."

Jon had now shifted from concern over Martin's strange behavior, to obvious panic over these pleas. Slowly he pulled his hand away from the file folders, bringing it to rest in his lap instead.

"Martin." The steadiness of his voice only seemed to emphasize his nervousness, "What's wrong with these statement?"

A million things were flying through Martin's head. All the things he knew he should tell Jon, about the institute, about the statements, the fears, the monsters. Things he knew Jon needed to hear. But they refused to go from his mind to his mouth, sticking somewhere in the back of his throat. It wasn't for lack of desire to tell Jon; Martin wanted to tell Jon, and he had every intention of doing so. With the feel of those statements under his hand, though, he felt frozen, the sensation of being looked at that he had grow so used to over his years at the institutes suddenly returning in its full force. He didn't think Elias, or The Eye, or whatever could actually watch them through those statements, but he just couldn't shake that feeling. 

Eventually Martin convinced his mouth to move once again. He looked across to Jon, throwing on the best smile he could managed, and asked, "Would you like to go for a walk?"

* * *

It was one of those rare days since they'd been in Scotland where the sky was almost completely cloud free, which unfortunately only helped emphasize the biting chill of late October. Martin had at least had the foresight make sure they'd both brought decent coats to Scotland, which meant he was able to put a thick layer of wool between him and the bitter wind. Jon had even donned an appropriate jacket without argument, which shocked Martin more than he would like to admit considering how he used to insist on always wearing too light a layer before he lost his memories.

Turning his face up to search out what little warmth he could feel from the sun, Martin breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh air. His head was finally starting to clear of the adrenaline from a few minutes prior. The farther they were from the cabin, the less he could feel the scrutinizing gaze of Beholding, and the easier his thoughts were to organize. 

Jon was once against the one to interrupt the silence between them, turning to Martin after a few minutes of walking, "So. That was...dramatic."

Martin's cheeks felt warm as a flush spread over them, "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"I'm assuming that somehow they have something to do with whatever happened at the institute?" He said, his voice full of uncertainty. Martin could practically see the cogs turning in Jon's head, trying to connect the dots and figure out how these things might relate to the two of them ending up in Scotland. 

"Yes, i-it does." The skepticism was starting to go across Jon's face, and Martin knew this was not going to be an easy conversation, "Look, Jon, I'm going to tell you what happened, but please just promise me that you're not just going to try and dismiss everything I say."

"Martin, I'm not going to-"

"No, Jon, listen to me." Martin stopped, placing a hand on Jon's shoulder to get him to turn to face him fully, "What happened at the institute, it's...it's a lot to take in. So I need you to promise that you're actually going to try and listen to me and not just tell me that I'm crazy or something."

Jon stared at him for a moment, seeming to weight just how much he actually trusted Martin, "Alright. I promise."

"Right. So..." Martin let go of his grip on Jon. They started back down the path, the sound of their shoes and Jon's cane crunching as they walked filling the spaces between Martin's thoughts, "So, you said you remember how there were those statements that wouldn't record, right? The one about the creepy guy in the alley, and the guy who had that weird singing coffin?"

"Yes, I remember those. The audio files always ended up corrupted."

"They were real, Jon." Martin blurted out before he could second guess what to say, "Real monsters. Real supernatural encounters. There was some fake statements in there, sure, but most of the stuff we studied at the institute, completely real. Real and dangerous. Very, very dangerous. And they're all just small manifestations of these...evil fear _things_. And the institute serves one of them, and so we got sort of mixed up with all these weird fear monsters, and you especially got dragged into it all, and...and...yeah..."

This time it was Jon who stopped, and Martin stopped a few steps ahead of him. They stood there across form each other, and Martin waited for what felt like a lifetime, anticipating what Jon would say.

"...you're insane."

"Oh goddammit, Jon!" Martin pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, sighing heavily, "You promised me you wouldn't do this."

"Well, I'm sorry Martin, but I didn't expect you to try and give me such a ridiculous explanation." Jon said, rolling his eyes, "Honestly, supernatural fear monsters? Do you actually expect me to believe that?"

"Hey, don't you dare start with your whole nonbeliever superiority complex. I know that you are not as much of a skeptic as you pretend like you are." Martin groaned, pointing a finger at Jon, "You worked in research for, what, five years? You know that there are things we studied at that institute that you can't just explain away with something mundane."

Jon shook his head, turning away from Martin and starting walking up the path again. Martin followed a few steps behind him, quietly impressed by how fast he could limp, "Martin, I'm sorry to inform you, but not everyone is as prone to absurd flights of fancy as you are. None of those supposed monsters and manifestations were real. In all my years working in research there was not one case I came across that couldn't be explained by drugs, mental illness, or just plain lying. There is no such thing as-"

"Mr. Spider."

Jon stopped in his tracks so quick that Martin nearly ran into his back. Martin could hear how his breath was starting to shake, and see way his whole body had gone taut. Slowly, Jon looked over his shoulder so he was just able to see Martin.

"H-how did you..." He swallowed hard, "That wasn't-"

"You know that was real, Jon." Martin said firmly, "It wasn't a hallucinations, it wasn't a dream, it wasn't something you imagined. It was real. You _know_ it was."

Jon turned the rest of the way to look at Martin, his face having gone pale. Jon then took a look their surroundings, and landed on the fence a few meters from where they were standing. Martin followed as Jon walked over to the fence, finding a post to lean on next to where Jon had awkwardly positioned himself sitting on one of the boards. He really couldn't blame Jon for wanting to sit for his, even if it did look uncomfortable.

"S-so it...it was...one of t-these monsters...l-like the ones people gave statements about?" Jon asked in a thin voice.

"Yes." Martin told him gingerly, "It was a part of one of these fear entities I was trying to telling you about earlier. Mr...that book was a manifestation of an entity call The Web. That one deals with arachnophobia, but also things like the fear of being manipulated or controlled. The institute was part of another one of the entities. The Eye. Fear of being watched, having your secrets known, stuff like that."

"And the things from the statements? They were part of these things too?" 

"Yeah, different statements dealt with different entities. See, there are fourteen fear...well...maybe fifteen. There a new one that was starting to emerge, but I'm still not totally sure what's going on with it. But anyway-" Martin went on and explained it all to Jon; Smirk's fourteen, how they manifest in the world, how the institute was involved in it all. He told Jon all about how Elias was actually Jonah, and how he manipulated all of them. He explained the statements, and what they did to Jon. Martin was careful to paint as complete a picture of it all as he could, knowing Jon would want as much information as he could get on it. He was also careful of exactly how he chose to word things; he made it no secret that Jonah had tricked Jon into forming a connection with The Eye, but he decided he didn't need bring up Jon's whole "am I a monster" crisis right now. Martin also decided that right now also wasn't the time to go into every encounter they had had. Jon really didn't need to be told about Nikola while he was still just trying to comprehend that The Stranger existed. 

After Martin covered the important parts about the entities, and Jon seemed to at least mostly understand, he then went on to explain the course of events that lead them here. Peter Lukas, Jonah and the Panopticon, the hunters wreaking havoc on the institute. Again he tried to tell Jon as much as he could think to. But he also decided that, like with the rest of it, there were _certain details_ that he didn't need to tell Jon about right now.

"-and so you...showed me how to get of The Lonely. Once we were back, the institute was already...really, really bad. There were still so many things that were after you, and the police were on their way, so we ran. Basira told us about this place, gave us the directions and everything, and said we needed to come here and hide out for a while until things eventually blew over. We've basically been here since."

There was a few beats of deafening quite while Martin waited for Jon to react. Then, much to Martin's surprise, Jon started to laugh. It wasn't the sort of genuine laugh that would still make Martin's heart swell, but it also wasn't quite that bitter thing that he had heard more often in the last little while. All Martin could do was just continue to look at Jon while he sat there laughing, hoping that eventually he would actually say something.

"I...good lord, that's..." Jon ran his hands through his hair, his laughter starting to sound less manic as he began to speak, "You, um, you were right earlier. That is... _a lot_ to take in."

Martin tensed, "But, do you, um, do you...believe me?"

"You know what, Martin? I do." Jon sat up a little straighter, as much as he could with the fence, shaking his head, "I shouldn't. But...I do. I have no idea why, but I believe you."

"Oh." Martin felt himself relax a little, a bit of laughter slipping into his own voice, "Good."

They both laughed awkwardly for a few seconds longer. When it started to die down, Jon sighed, looking down at himself, "Well, at least now I can chance a guess at where I managed to get all these scars form."

Martin sucked in a breath through his teeth, "Ah, yes, those. Yeah, a lot of your encounters...didn't turn out too great. Your body was put through a lot in the last few years." He watched as Jon inspected his burnt hand, turning it over and taking in the details of it. Then his eye came away from his hand to meet Martin's, so full of curiosity that Martin only hesitated a moment before answering the unspoked question, "That one, um, that was a run in with The Desolation. Hand shake gone wrong. It was a pretty nasty burn. And, uh, t-the one on your throat, that was from The Hunt. A-actually, specifically, it was Daisy. It was before you two were...friends? Then the little circular ones, those were from-"

"Jane Prentiss, right?"

It was a question that Jon asked so innocently, and yet it had knocked all the air out of Martin's lungs. He looked down at Jon, eyes wide and jaw hanging slightly open. Jon, meanwhile, had a look on his face like a child who had knew they had said something wrong, but didn't understand what.

"H-how did you know that?" Martin stammered. 

The concern and confusion continued to mount on Jon's face, "You mentioned her? Didn't you?"

"No. No, I never mentioned her." Martin shook his head. His heart was racing now. From what, he wasn't sure. Anxiety? Excitement? Both? "Did you remember?"

"I, uh..." Jon looked back down at where the little round scars could be seen on his wrists, peaking out form the sleeve of his coat, "I don't know. I...I don't _think_ I remember her. I couldn't tell you anything about her, o-or how exactly I got these scars. But there's...something? It's hard to describe. It's all fuzzy. Vague. It's not...I can't really...I...I-AH!"

All of a sudden Jon jumped forward, his back arching away form the fence as he fell away from it. Martin jumped forward with him, catching him before he faceplanted into the grass. He turned towards the fence, looking for whatever had made Jon react like that and...

A cow.

A big, shaggy, ginger cow, poking its nose through the spaces in the fence. It must have come up behind them while they weren't paying attention and poked Jon's back, Martin realized. When he did, he felt himself start to laugh again, much more earnestly. 

"Oh my god." He breathed out between laughs, stepping away from Jon and reaching a hand out to start ruffling through the cow's fur. Glancing back, Jon was still in the spot he had jumped to, his face still a lingering mix of confusion and concern. Martin waved a hand to beckon him over, "Come on, it's not going to bite. They're quite friendly actually."

Clearly uncertain, Jon stepped forward back towards the cow. Martin moved to the side so that Jon could get closer, and after much consideration, Jon reached out to stroke its ears. In an instant his face relaxed, barely contained fascination shining out across it. It was the happiest Martin had seen him in over a week, and his smile was so genuine that it made Martin's whole body feel warm.

He decided they could discuss Jane Prentiss later. Petting cows was more important right now

* * *

When they had left for their walk, neither of them had bothered to bring a phone or a watch, so they had no idea how long they'd been out. After they spent some time with the cows, and Martin said a quick goodbye to them promising they'd be back soon (which was really more a promise for Jon than it had been for the cows), they had continued their walk for a while longer. It was only when Martin saw how low the sun was hanging in the sky that he decided to turn them back, and they started back down the path towards the safehouse, walking in amiable silence.

The longer they walked, though, the more Martin began to regret this decision. Usually he was the one having to try to keep up with Jon on these walks, since what Jon appeared to consider a casual stroll was more akin to what Martin would call a powerwalk. This time, however, Martin was constantly reminding himself to slow down, take shorter strides, just so that Jon wouldn't end up trailing too far behind him. He was leaning on his cane quite heavily at this point, and his feet were starting to drag, slowing him down even further. The look on his face was also beginning to speak to his exhaustion, with glassy looking eyes that blinked a little too slow, staring off into nothing.

"Jon? How are you doing?" Martin asked, moving a little closer to Jon's side.

Jon inhaled deeply as he raised his head up to look in Martin's direction. In a tired voice he assured Martin, "I'm fine, don't worry." 

As soon as he finished talking, he stumbled, knees buckling under him slightly. Martin was quick to reach out for him, taking hold of one of his elbows in one hand, and placing the other on Jon's shoulder. He tried to keep the touch light, just enough to keep Jon upright, but Jon leaned his weight into him, making Martin have to hold on tighter.

"Whoa, ok there, I've got you." He helped Jon steady himself on his feet, and took in just how burn out Jon looked as he did, "God, Jon, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for us to be out this long."

"It was nice. Felt good getting out for a walk." Jon said quietly, the words starting to slur together, and a lazy smile on his face, "I liked the cows. You were right, they were very good cows."

Martin couldn't help but smile back at him, "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, but you do look like you're about to fall asleep any second."

Jon waved his hand, starting to mutter another "I'm fine", when he tripped once again. This time Martin was just able to get a hold on him before he fully collided with the ground. He lowered Jon down onto the ground softly, keeping a supporting hand on his shoulder.

Taking a look around, he could see the safehouse not too far in the distance, just a few minutes walk from where they were. But looking back to Jon, he found out just how accurate his previous statement was. Jon's eyes were beginning to flutter shut, his body starting to give in to the need for sleep.

"Jon? Jon, can you hear me?" There was a small noise from Jon that Martin took as a yes, "We're really close to the cabin, do you think you can make it?"

There was a pause as Jon thought, but then he shook his head, "I'm um...'m tired...m'legs hurt..."

Sighing, Martin had his own pause, weighing the options of what to do next. Unfortunately, there was only one that really made sense to him, "Jon, is it ok if I pick you up? If you're comfortable with it, I can carry you the rest of the way. It'll probably only be two or three minutes."

"Ok." Jon mumbled, slowly nodding, "Jus' promise you won't drop me."

Cautiously, Martin got into position, first placing the cane across Jon's chest, then sliding one arm under his legs, and winding the other around his back. Luckily, Jon was quite light, and a decent bit smaller than Martin, so it was easy to lift him off the ground without jostling him too much. Martin held Jon close to his chest, wanting to make sure he felt secure being held like that. It appeared to work, because it was only a few seconds before Jon's head flopped against Martin's chest, fully asleep now.

It felt like such a strangely, almost achingly familiar position to Martin. It brought back the memory of the time he'd had to do this when Jon had fallen asleep beside him out the couch, just after they'd first arrived in Scotland. Then, Martin had oh so carefully gathered Jon up into his arms, holding him gently as not to wake him, and carried him into the bedroom. He could remember laying Jon down on his side of the bed and tossing the blankets over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before crawling in next to him. It was a good memory.

When they arrived back at the safehouse, Martin managed to get them both inside and to the bedroom without having to put Jon down, though it did involved some interesting maneuvering. He sat Jon down on the bed, sliding his shoes off while Jon pulled off his jacket. Jon was quick to flop down into bed once those were off, his breathing returning to that deep, steady rhythm of sleep barely a moment after his head hit the pillow. Stepping as lightly as he could, Martin made his way out of the room, stopping only when he reached the door.

He stood there for a second, looking at Jon from the distance, at how small he looked curled up in that bed by himself. A shiver ran through his body, shaking him from his moment of indulgence and causing an ache to twist through his chest. He quickly took that last step into the hallway, shutting the door behind him with a click. Walk over to the couch and settling into his usual spot, Martin did his best to ignore how cold the safehouse suddenly felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I have decided that Martin must pick Jon up at least once per fic. Why? I do not know, but when I see the opportunity, I take it.  
> So anyway, this chapter ended up being like several hundred words long than the last few, and yet was one of the quickest for me to write, so that's fun. As usual with me, I can make no promises of whether I'm going to be able to keep any kind of regular upload schedule, but I'm going to try and get the next two chapters out ASAP. They're also probably going to be shorter than this one, but again, no guarantees either way. My writing is sporadic and unpredictable, and I don't have it in me to try and do anything about that.


	5. Reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Martin discuss injuries and reading material
> 
> TW: Minor discussion of pain and scars, Lonely related content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that, I changed the chapter count. Seems even planning things out before hand cannot stop me from changing stuff up in the middle of it. I just realized there was still a lot of stuff I hadn't really covered that I wanted to, and I just came to the conclusion that it would be easier to just add another chapter. It's also because if I didn't then my first three chapter would have word counts of like 3200-3500, and then suddenly my word counts jump to like 4200-4500 per chapter, and I didn't like that. So yes, 7 chapters now instead of 6.

Martin leaned back on the couch, lifting his glasses to running his ever so slightly trembling hand over his face, wiping away some of the wetness that had started to gather around his eyes. After Jon had nearly grabbed them three days before, Martin had made a mental note that he needed to do something with the other statements Basira had sent them. Part of him had just wanted to burn them all without a second thought, but he decided against it. If Jon needed still statements, he didn't want to have to wait for more to be sent up from London to get them to him. So Martin decided the best thing to do to make sure they were safe was to read them himself.

He had make it through almost all of them so far. They seemed to be a little quicker to read when you weren't dictating them. They were still awful, definitely, but for the most part, he'd been able to choke down the discomfort, doing his best to not read them too closely, and just make sure there weren't any more additions from Jonah hidden in them. He was also pacing himself, taking time between statements to let himself settle. It wasn't fun, but it wasn't too bad either. Until this statement, that is.

The other statements he'd read so far had carried with them clear marks of various entities; Corruption, Spiral, Slaughter, Buried, and so on. There had even been an Eye related statement in there. Martin had been able to get through all of those fine, even if they had still made his skin crawl. He was almost feeling confident doing this until he got to this statement. With so many other entities in this mix, he really thought he aught to have expected this one to show up as well.

Other entities still scared him, sure, but The Lonely struck it's own special kind of terror in his heart now.

The statement itself hadn't been anything overly dramatic. After having read stories of crushing depth and psychological anguish and battlefield carnage, he would have thought he could have stomached one about someone lost in the fog. But as he read that statement, he could feel it so tangibly around him that more than once he had to make sure he hadn't ended up back there. Because he _knew_ how that person had felt. That damp, enveloping cold that settled itself down into your bones so deep that it made you believe that it belonged there, that this was how you were supposed to feel. The hollow, distant sensation in your chest that made you wonder if you actually even had a body anymore, as if you were just some intangible awareness, separate from everyone and everything else around you. It was a feeling so thick that you were certain no one would ever be able to find you through it. It was so much easier for him to get sucked into this statement, his eyes hanging on every word as if to make sure he took each of them in in their entirety, because it just felt so familiar. In a way, it even felt right. So right that it made Martin feel nauseated. 

Determined to clear his head, Martin pushed himself to his feet go make a cup of tea. He started on the well practiced motions of it, putting the kettle on, grabbing a mug, getting the box of tea out. It was only when turned back to where he put the mugs on the counter to put a tea bag in it that he noticed that he had grabbed two mugs instead of one. It had become a big of a reflex over the years, making a mug for Jon whenever he made one for himself, really. That, and he suspected his subconscious had a point with this; making a cup of tea would probably help him shake off the chill of The Lonely if he wasn't just drinking it by himself. Jon would probably appreciate a cup anyway. He usually liked a cup of tea in the afternoon.

Luckily the bedroom door was open when he was done with the tea, so knew he wasn't going to be disturbing Jon with the tea. Peaking in, he saw Jon sitting on the bed, the notebook Martin had given him from the small stash he'd brought to Scotland in his lap, and a pen in his hand, doodling away aimlessly. 

"Knock knock." Martin said, announcing himself.

Jon looked up, smiling slightly when he spotted Martin and the mug he was holding up, "Ah, Martin, perfect timing. I wanted to ask you about something. And thank you for the tea."

"No problem." Martin handed over the mug, which Jon gladly took from him, "So what did you want to ask about?"

"Did I have any sort of chest injuries while we were in the archive?"

Martin wasn't sure what kind of question he had expected, but that had not been it. Jon had been asking a lot of questions since he and Martin had discussed what happened at the institute, and each one felt stranger than the last to Martin. Brows pulled together, he stated down at Jon, who's face had taken on that curious, determined look as it did when he'd ask about things back early on in the archive. It was rather adorable, if not a touch ridiculous given the question.

"Um...why?"

"Well, you see, I have an idea." Jon's voice had a hint of that excited note to it that it had when he was particularly eager to discuss a topic, though it carried an edge of seriousness as well "I've been thinking what you've told me about the injuries I had while we worked in the archive, and I think that they might have something to do with," He gestured broadly to his body, and then quickly to his cane than was leaning against the bed, "my current physical condition."

"Really?" Martin asked, his interest definitely piqued.

"Take my legs, for example." Jon began, clearly happy about getting to share his theory, "You told me about the Prentiss attack, and which scars I got from it. I have quite a lot of those scars on my legs, and they are also one of the parts that seems to be worse off. But what I found particularly interesting about it, is that I seem to have more, as well as a few worse scars on my right leg compared to my left. And it just so happens that my right leg is the one that bothers me more. It's a similar situation with my hands; my left hand very rarely hurts, but my right hand with the burn scar is sore almost constantly. So, what I'm trying to say is that I believe the injuries I got while I was working in the archive seem to be at least part of what's causing me problems now."

"That's...hmm..." Going over where he knew Jon's scars were, he did seem to be on to something. What exactly the implications of this something were was more what Martin was concerned with in that moment, "So, um, you asked about your chest because-"

"It hurt. Quite a lot." Jon sighed in a breathy voice, "Obviously I have the same Prentiss scars that I do on most of the rest of my body, as well as these other ones that I don't think you've explained to me yet," He pointed to a scar on his arm Martin recognized as being from the shrapnel of the Unknowing. He hadn't quite figured out how he wanted to broach that subject quite yet, "but I feel like there's something more. The pain seems to be a lot...deeper than in other spots."

Grimacing, Martin sucked in a sharp breath, realizing exactly which encounter was likely the culprit here, "Ah, right, I don't think I mentioned this one. You, um, might have...have a few ribs removed...by an avatar of the Flesh." Jon was now looking at him with also the exact same dumbfounded face Martin had had when Jon first asked about his chest, "You told me it seemed like a good idea at that time."

"I...I'm sure it did." Jon said, shaking his head. He looked about as taken aback at his past self's choices as Martin had been at him at the time. 

"Ok, but wait, this doesn't make any sense. You got some of these scars years ago, and they never caused you this much of a problem before." Martin pointed out.

Jon paused a moment, considering this. He looked himself over once again, eyes lingering on the scars he could see, "You told me that I had connection of some sort to the Eye, and that it seemed to make me heal faster, correct? Maybe it's not doing that anymore? Maybe I don't have the Eye fixing my injuries for me anymore, and so I'm having to...heal like normal, I guess. Something like that?"

"I...wow, um, yeah...yeah, I guess?" A quiet, nervous laugh slipped past Martin's lips, "Might explain why you're so tired all the time. You body is trying to catch up on two years of sleep."

The thought of it all was as worry to Martin as it was intriguing. Jon's connection to the Eye was just such a given thing in their lives at this point, the idea that it had somehow changed, that it wasn't protecting him like it used to was almost too much for Martin to process all at once.

Then his mind slipped back to the previous year, to Tim and his comments after he came back from his attempted escape to Malaysia. How he kept feeling sicker the longer he was away. And then the memories from a few month prior joined in the mix, after Jon's intervention, when he was hungry for statements, just barely sustaining himself on what the archive could provide him. 

"I've gone through most of the statements we have here, you know. Doesn't look like there's anything wrong with them." Martin pointed out, trying not to sound quite so solemn, "If you wanted to try, you know, reading one, they're there for you."

Confusion knit itself back into Jon's expression as he looked up at Martin, "Um, a-alright. I guess I wouldn't mind having something to read."

It took all of Martin's concentration to not let the shock he was feeling be visible. Jonathan Sims, the Archivist had actually just looked at him and shrugged at the offer of statements. It was possible that the statement withdrawals had just gotten bad enough that it was really starting to mess with his mind, or that the memory loss had tricked him into forgetting what his body actually needed, but there was just something in his body language and in his voice that made Martin doubt all that. He genuinely seemed disinterested in the idea of the statements. There was none of that hunger in his eyes, none of the tension through his body. If anything, he looked bored by the thought of reading them.

"On the topic of reading, though." Jon's voice cut through Martin's thoughts, making him jump. Luckily Jon didn't seem to notice "Are there any books in the cabin? I found two in here, but I finished both of those days ago. I just need something to do other than sit here and contemplate myself." 

After a few tries opening a closing his mouth without any sound, Martin got his brain back online, "I uh, n-no I don't think there's much to read around here. But I think there's a spot in the village that has book, if you wanted some. I was actually thinking about heading down there later today."

Jon perked up at that, nodding for a moment as he thought about it, "That works. I haven't been down to the village yet."

"Oh. Did you want to come with me?"

"I don't see any reason not to. It will be nice to get out again." Jon said with a shrug.

"Alright." Martin looked down to his much cooler than before cup of tea, which he now saw he had a white-knuckle grip on. He raised it up slightly, smiling as confidently as he could at Jon, "We can walk down after tea, if you're up for it."

Jon returned a stiff smile of his own, "Sounds fine to me, Martin."

* * *

They hadn't spoken much since they left the cabin. The quite wasn't particularly uncomfortable, but it still wasn't quite easy silence that Martin had gotten used to. Jon didn't seem to mind though. He still liked his space, so Martin didn't have an issue giving it to him. Luckily, despite the distance, the walk to the village had passed by quickly enough. The bookshop proved a good distraction.

The little secondhand bookshop in the village actually had a pretty decent selection, and Jon appeared determined to take advantage of that. Martin wasn't overly concerned with the amount of books Jon was picking out, since money wasn't really an issue (as it turned out, Peter never really checked his bank account), but it was still fascinating to watch him go through the rows of them. Jon looked over the books at a pace that made Martin suspect that he wasn't actually paying much attention to the content of the book itself. He looked at though he was just adding anything with a cover that attracted him or a title that caught his eye, and adding it to the pile. If anything, he looked like he was paying more attention to the inside of the covers than anything else about them. Martin couldn't really blame him, though. It had only been a few days since Martin told him about Mr. Spider. He would have been careful to check for bookplates too if he were in Jon's position.

Jon looked his shoulder at Martin a few times before turning to and in a hushed voice asking, "Is everything alright, Martin?"

Martin blinked down at him a few times, "Yeah, fine. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just that you been...hovering." Jon said, gesturing to where there was barely a meter of space between them. 

"Ah, sorry." Martin backed up a few steps, suddenly feeling the need to make himself smaller, "Small shop."

"Yes, quite." Jon quirked his head curiously at him, eyes narrowing, "Are you sure everything is ok?"

Martin gave a tight nod, fidgeting with the hem of his coat, "Everything is great. Just, you know, want to make sure you're doing ok."

"Oh." For a second Jon continued to stare at Martin with that questioning look, head tilted slightly. Eventually he turned back to the books with a shake of his head, "Well, I feel perfectly alright, if that's what you're worried about. It was a long walk, but I have spent most of the last two days in bed, and I've been feeling well today, so it's manageable."

"That's good." Martin muttered, "Just thought I'd make sure. Given everything that's happened the last few days and all."

Expression souring a little, Jon turned back towards Martin, "I see. Really, you don't need to worry about that. I think considering everything you've told me, I've actually been doing quite well. It's all a bit overwhelming, yes, but I can manage. Honestly, I think not being able to actually _remember_ it all helps in a way. Makes it all seem more distant, I guess. Never expected there to be any benefits to amnesia, but I guess everything has its silver lining."

Martin could feel himself beginning to tense even more. He knew Jon hadn't meant anything by that. He couldn't possibly have. Still, hearing him talk about his memory loss like that made him squirm. He couldn't help but feel like somewhere in that was a little subconscious message for him. Ridiculous. Martin was well aware that was just his own mind trying to read into things that weren't there. But that didn't mean it was easy for him to shake the feeling.

Without noticing the change in Martin's body language, Jon turned his attention back to scouring through the shelves, "You really don't need to keep watch over me. I promise, I am alright. So if you wanted to go look for something for yourself..." He gave a wave of his hand that Martin knew hadn't been intended to seem rude.

"Right. Yes. I'll, um, I'll go do that." Martin stammered before slipping off into another section of shelves. Even with how small the store was, he managed to not bump into Jon again until they went to the till to pay. 

* * *

"Damaged his connection with The Eye?"

"Listen, Basira, I know it sounds nuts, but I don't know any other way to explain it." Martin said frantically into the phone receiver. He was about due for a check in with her, and they had been down in the village anyway, so he decided it was as good a time as any to catch her up with everything that had happened. It also gave Jon a chance to rest before they started walking back to the safehouse, and Martin decided that it would probably be in both their best interests to not have to carry him again.

Looking out through the dusty windows of the phone box, Martin checked on Jon where he was sitting peacefully a bench a short distance away. He looked fine, just contently peaking through the bag full of old books in his lap. Apart from the scars, frankly, he looked like a completely normal person, nothing sinister or supernatural about him. And that was honestly stranger to Martin than the way he had known him in London.

"He doesn't seem to have, you know, capital K Known anything since he lost his memories." Martin continued with a sigh, "He's been asking lots of questions lately and none of them have felt compelling. Hell, I told him about the statements today, thinking maybe they might help him, and he didn't seem interested in them at all. I get he can't remember being the Archivist, but you know what he was like with those things, Basira. He was practically addicted to them. You don't just loose a dependence like that for no reason."

He listened as Basira blew out a long, heavy breath, and he felt like he could practically the considering way she was shaking her head. A few more beat of silence before she spoke again, "So, what, you think you basically hit the reset button on your boyfriend?"

In an instant Martin could feel his face burning. He wasn't sure whether it was more from what Basira had said itself, or the audible gasp it had knocked out of him. It had felt like so long since he'd let himself even think that word. He tried to cover it up with an awkward chuckle, "Um, y-yeah, I guess so."

"Oh. Right." Basira sounded apologetic on the other end of the call, her voice going tight and uncomfortable, "Sorry, I guess I shouldn't have...I forgot that you two aren't technically-"

"It's fine. Just...yeah." Martin blurted out, desperately wanting to forget that just happened, "I don't know if I've completely cut his ties to Beholding, or just weaken them. Like I said, he seems to have started to get some memory back, so I guess we just have to wait and see what happens."

"You don't sound too happy about all this." Basira pointed out. She sounded like she was trying to be delicate about it, but delicate was not a word Martin would have been quick to associate with Basira, "I thought this would have been a good think."

"No, no, i-it's good." Martin stammered, "At least I think it's good? I don't know. It's all just a lot."

There was another pause between them, eventually broken by a nearly inaudible sigh from Basira, "Martin, are you ok?"

"I'm fine, Basira. Everything is fi-"

"Martin."

Eye's stitching shut at the forceful sound of Basira's voice, Martin stopped, biting his bottom lip until it hurt. Fine had become his mind's favourite word over the last two weeks. He was _fine_. Jon was _fine_. They were _fine_. Everything was _fine_. Just give it a little longer and things would just be _fine_. It was like a mantra he used to distract himself from his own feelings. Basira, however, did not seemed satisficed with that as an answer.

"It's hard." His voice sounded so wrung out reverberating there in that little box, "It's not fun watching him go through all this. And it's weird having to basically reintroduce myself to him. It's like, he's scared and he's in pain and I just want to be able to offer him some amount of comfort through all, but I can't because he's only just starting to actually trust me again. I feel like if I'm not carful I'm going to do or say the wrong thing and make him uncomfortable. It just sucks having to walk on eggshells like this when all I want to do is help him."

"I think the worst part is that I know I should be happy about this." He continued, "Jon might actually have a shot at a normal life for the first time in years, and I _should_ be happy about that. But I...Christ, I miss him Basira. It's so stupid because he's right there and I miss him. And it just feels so _selfish_ and I _hate_ it."

"Martin." This time when she said his name, the force it had previously held had been replaced by something much softer. Sympathetic. "You're allowed to be upset. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah I know." He replied flatly.

Shaking his head to clear it of some of this, Martin tucked all the feelings he'd begun to stir up back away into some distant corner of his mind. It wouldn't do him or Jon any good for him to be feel like that for the rest of the day.

"I should go." He muttered after a few seconds, "We aught to get back to the safehouse, Jon's going to be pretty tired. And I'm running out of change, anyway."

Basira made a tired sound, "Alright. I'll talk to you next week, I guess."

"Yeah, talk to you then."

"Take care of yourself, Martin." Basira quickly added on, her voice turning serious.

He hoped Basira couldn't hear the way his breath caught in his throat, "Goodbye, Basira."

Martin hung up the phone, and stepped out of the box to go rejoin Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognize that by my own explanation of what happened to him, Jon should technically be dead, but I do not care, this is my fic and I shall do what I wish lol. And I know that in canon I don't think they actually say that Jon has any scars from the Unknowing, but I am of the opinion that Jon definitely has scars from the Unknowing. You don't get caught in the middle of an exploding building without bits of that exploding building getting caught in you.


	6. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon asks Martins about a few people
> 
> TW: Discussions of canon character death (crying, grief, panic because of this)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *writes another reference to the fact that Jon's legs are injured/hurt and kinda don't work great currently*  
> Also Me: *had Jon walk long distances in the last two chapters*  
> It's fine. Let's just say he was having good pain days the last two chapters, it's fine.  
> And sorry that I once again had a bigger gap between uploads. I really need to get better with a consistent upload schedule, but consistent is a word that has never once been used to describe my work ethic. I'm going to try and get the last chapter out asap, but as usual, I have no idea how long that is actually going to be.

"Really, Martin, I'm perfectly fine." Jon insisted, though he still didn't do anything to resist Martin's ministrations.

"Is that so? It really is fascinating that your definition of perfectly fine includes _bleeding and possible sprains_." Martin scoffed as he continued to dab at the shallow scrape running along Jon's arm with a damp cloth, "You struggle to walk and yet for some reason you decided trying to run would be a good idea. You're lucky you only hit your arm on the table and not your bloody head."

"I wasn't running." Jon huffed, "I was just walking very quickly."

"Without your cane."

Tossing his head back, Jon let out a groan, "Yes yes, point taken. But honestly, I'm hardly even bleeding, it's just a scratch. I don't think a few drops is that big of an issue. And I did _not_ sprain my ankle. Look." He then proceeded to start wiggling the foot Martin had propped up on pillow on the other end of the couch to prove his point, "I just rolled it a little. You don't need to worry about me so much, I'm not that fragile."

Martin gave an exasperated roll of his eyes. He wasn't sure that was exactly an accurate statement. Sure, Jon hadn been burning himself out much less in the last little while, but the rest of his condition hadn't seen quite the same change. Martin was pretty sure Jon was already in enough pain most of the time with tripping over his own feet and smashing his arm against the (concerningly sharp) corner of a table. As they so often did, the descriptors of "reckless" and "accident prone" popped into Martin's mind while he thought about Jon.

"So, what exactly were you even so worked up about?" He asked, swapping out the flannel for the small bottle of antiseptic he found in Daisy's old first aid kit, "You sounded like you had something to tell me."

Perking up, a grin started to bloom across Jon's face, "I think I've remembered something else."

"Oh really? What's this time?" Martin made sure to keep the excitement he felt more obvious in his voice than the hesitance. Since their walk when he had known Jane Prentiss's name, Jon had been able to recall a few other names, but Martin couldn't say they were ones he was too happy to hear again. Jared Hopworth, Mike Crew, Jude Perry. People who were mostly only notable in Jon's life for causing him pain. Jon couldn't remember any of the pain they had caused him, luckily, but Martin was all too aware of it. He made the conscious decision to focus on the fact that Jon was getting memories back at all, rather than the nature of those memories and what they might imply.

"Another name." Jon stated, focusing as if to make sure he was getting it right, "Oliver Banks? Does that name mean anything?"

Without meaning for it, a sigh slipped out of Martin. Embarrassment washed over him in an instant, regretting allowing that unconscious reaction to surface. He knew he didn't have the right to feel this way about that man, but he just couldn't help in. Martin had been told more than once that he had a bit of a jealous streak.

 _Of course he remembered Oliver fucking Banks_ , he thought to himself. _Probably remembers him better than he remembers me_. He sat up a little straighter, refusing to let any further envy show on his face.

"Yes he...he helped you out once." Martin said plainly. That didn't feel like enough of an answer, but currently he didn't feel like say much more. Whether from the envy itself, or from the fear that any more talking might make that envy more obvious, Martin wasn't sure.

Jon still seemed to pick up on how strange he was acting, though. He shot him a curious look, brows pinched together, clearly trying to find any clues for what was making Martin act like this.

"Alright..." He muttered stiffly, "Were we...friends?"

"I don't know, actually. I never met the guy." Martin told him honestly, "No one ever really told me much about him."

"Oh. Alright." Jon clearly wasn't satisficed with that answer, but he seemed to know it wasn't an issue to push at the moment. Martin was thankful for that. He had no idea how to explain his behavior regarding Oliver Banks without addressing...other topics.

Standing abruptly, Martin dusted himself off with a smile, desperate to avoid this conversation and the emotions that laced through it, "Would you like some tea? I was thinking about making some tea."

After another curious glance at Martin, Jon nodded, which Martin took as his opportunity for retreat. He got to work quickly starting the kettle and getting the mugs out, letting the actions of it fill his mind and replace the thoughts of that conversation. Old habits do in fact die hard, it seemed. As the tea finished and Martin began to mix in the milk and sugar, he was able to shake off the last of it, so that when he stepped back out of the kitchen the signs of his earlier awkwardness were gone. 

He handed the mug to Jon, who took it readily, that that contemplative look was still on his face. While Martin had done his best to clear his mind of it all, Jon looked as though he'd only sunken further into it. Martin watched as he took his first sip, and saw how it only made those inquisitive lines between his brows grow deeper.

"Martin," Jon began, looking away from his tea to where Martin was still awkwardly hovering near the couch. There was determination in his eyes, but an equal amount of hesitation as he spoke, "We...we were friends, weren't we?"

As if the embarrassment of his jealously wasn't enough, Martin had to stop himself from audibly gasping at that question. 

"I, uh...w-what?" Martin stammered out.

"I-I'm sorry, that's probably a strange question to ask someone. It's just..." Jon pauses for a long second, staring down at the mug held gently in his hands, "Tea."

"Tea?"

"Yes, it's...you know how I like my tea. And how I like most things, frankly. You seem to know a lot about me. I mean, you know what I brought here better than I do." Jon chuckled, fiddling with the heavy material of his long, black skirt. Martin had noticed he reacted a little weird when he had mentioned in a few days ago, suggesting that it might be more convenient than wrestling with trousers when his legs were acting up. He had assumed the reaction had just been out of mild discomfort, since it had been a while into knowing Jon before he had seen him wear something like that. It hadn't really occurred to Martin that Jon had reacted that way to the suggestion out of surprise.

"There's also the fact that we're here together. And have been for a while now." Jon continued, "I know that in reality we have known each other for much longer than I can remember, and so of course we would have some sort of relationship, but...there are just certain thinks that you know that I wouldn't have expected you to. A-and...and the fact that you seem so determined to make sure I'm taken care of. It just makes me feel like...we must have been close."

Martin hesitated for a moment, trying to decide exactly what to say. It felt so easy to say the wrong thing here, slip up and reveal too much and upset Jon.

"Yeah. Yeah, we were close. We, um...we were friends. Good friends." Martin said softly, a somber note ringing through in his voice. It wasn't necessarily the whole truth, but it was far from a lie.

The comment brought a smile to Jon's face, small, but warm and genuine. It was a comfort to Martin the way Jon looked so pleased at the thought that they were friends. But then the smile wavered, his eyes drifting down the the mug again. For a few seconds Jon sat there, the wheels turning in his head, when something almost sad mixing into his expression.

"I'm sorry, Martin."

Martin stared down at him, startled, "What? Sorry? Why on earth are you sorry?"

Jon clutched at the mug a little tighter, eyes fixed on its rippling content as if it held the answers to all this, "You said we were friends. But I can't remember it. You know all this stuff about me and I...I hardly know anything about you anymore. I don't even really know how to act around you yet. The only memories I have of you before being here are those few days back in the archive, and we...didn't exactly hit it off, as I recall."

The look on Jon's face broke Martin's heart a little. So openly apologetic, and so lost for a way to fix it. Fitting himself into the small space left available, Martin took a seat on the couch, not wanting to loom over Jon any longer.

"Hey, Jon, it's alright. None of this is your fault. We ended up in a shit situation, it's not something to beat yourself up over." There was a weak, thankful smile from Jon at the attempt. Mustering a smile of his own, he grinned over at Jon, hoping the lighten the mood again, "You know, if it's an consolation, we're making must faster progress than we did the first time. Took you months before you got anywhere near this comfortable around me back in the archives."

A short laugh slipped out of Jon, "Tim has commented before on the fact that I'm not the easiest person to get along with."

"Did he really?"

"Well, his exact wording might have been more along the lines that I'm 'a bit of an arrogant dickhead sometimes', I believe." Jon chuckled, adding air quotes for emphasis.

"Yeah, that does sound like something he would have said." Martin laughed. 

"It certainly does." Jon said fondly. He sat there for a moment, lost in reminiscing, before turning back to Martin, a softer curiosity now on his face, "What was I like back in the archive?"

"Honestly?" Jon gave him a nod, and so Martin considered it for a second, "Well, honestly...you were a bit of an arrogant dickhead sometimes."

Jon scoffed, not quite managing to sound offended, "I do hope that I wasn't that bad."

"You did once send me out on a follow up that could have gotten me killed...actually, now that I think about it, more than once."

Jon's eyes went wide, clearly shocked at himself, "Good lord."

"It did get better though." Martin reassured him, which helped Jon to relax slightly "You're the one offered to let me stay at the institute after Prentiss. That was actually when we first really started becoming friends. I was there all the time, and you were still staying late more than was probably good for you, so we would end up talking pretty often. And sometimes we would have lunch together, although that did usually involve me almost having to physically drag you out of that office."

The fondness Jon had when he talked about Tim returned to his face, his hands fidgeting with his mug, "Well, I'm glad to know we were able to work things out. And though we still might have a way to go, but I do look forward to being your friend again."

Martin found himself feeling much the same. Things we're always great between them - Jon could still be awkward around him, stiff and stubborn like he had been all those years ago, and in turn Martin felt himself slipping back into that nervous uncertainty from time to time - but they were getting better. As much as there was still that part of Martin mourning the man he had known just a few weeks prior, he was also happy that he could still be Jon's friend. Even more so at the thought they could be friends without the threat of the supernatural tearing them apart. 

They sat a while longer, finishing their tea. Martin told a few stories from their time back in the archive, and Jon listened intently. It was the kind of easy, friendly moment that Martin had wished they could have had back then, free from the worry of what horror might be waiting for them after it.

The moment was only interrupted when Jon's stomach growled loudly.

"Oh god, what time is it?" Martin looked outside to where the sunlight was turning its deeper shade of gold as the sun sunk closer to the horizon, "We should probably get something to eat."

Jon nodded in agreement, unable to put up any argument to the idea as his stomach started to rumble again.

Gathering up their empty mugs, Martin made his way back to the kitchen to search out something for dinner. Much to his disappointment, though, his search only reminded him of what he had planned on doing before Jon had his little incident with the table. There was next to nothing left in the kitchen to eat, apart from some questionable old cans of beans Daisy had left, and the mismatched leftover ingredients from other nights. Not really enough for a proper meal.

Popping his head back into the other room, Martin called over the Jon, "Hey, I forgot to get stuff earlier, so unless you're hungry for a quarter of an onion and some flour, I'm going to have to pop down to the village. I promise I'll try to be quick."

"Alright." Jon shrugged, "I don't mind waiting a bit longer."

Martin gave him a quick thumbs up, and went to go grab his coat. He really hoped the shop would still be open by the time he got down there.

* * *

It being November now meant that the sun was already mostly set when Martin began walking back to the safehouse. The dark made the village feel even quieter that it often did, with just the lights in windows indicating the presence of other people in parts of it. The path the the cabin, meanwhile, didn't even have those few distant lights to brighten the world around him. Those last lingering moments of sunlight lit his way for a minutes, but was then soon replaced by the moon being the only thing to break up the darkness. It gave enough illumination that Martin didn't have any worry about it potentially being anything more than regular, run-of-the-mill darkness, but it did little to make it feel any less enveloping.

Martin didn't like being out in the dark like this. When it was light out, he could at least clearly see the signs of life around him; houses in the distance, a voice carrying on the breeze, a fence in the field, shoeprints in the dirt. Little things that indicated that there still might be other people around. In the dark, however, all these things hard to make out, like they were blurry and too far off. It was too easy to feel alone in the dark like this. Too much like he could get lost in it, consumed by it.

He tried to focus his mind so that he didn't spiral too far into that line of thinking. He inhaled deeply, letting the feeling of the frigid air ground him. As he exhaled, he watched his breath float off it a little cloudy puff. It was quite cold out at this time of day. Probably below freezing. Cold enough to freeze your breath, certainly. Martin kept telling himself that, trying to ignore the way the sight of it made his heart race.

He clutched the bag in his hands a little tighter, and looked for the light of the cottage in the distance. A lighthouse the guide him out of the fog. The comfort there might have been minimal, but it was better than what the dark offered.

The safehouse was dimly lit when Martin arrived. This wasn't too unusual, since Jon was in the habit of not thinking to turn on more lights even when the ones that were on weren't sufficiently bright anymore. On more than one occasion Martin had walking in on him squinting down at statements, straining to read them until Martin had flipped on another lamp for him. More likely than not, Jon hadn't even moved from where Martin had left him in the time that he'd been gone. With how quite it was, he suspected Jon might have been asleep too. Martin wished he was awake. Besides not wanting to have to worry about waking and moving Jon after he got the groceries away, he would have appreciated a bit of conversation. The silence wasn't doing much to help Martin shake the Lonely's chill.

Or at least, it had been silence, until a sound like a gasp cut through the stillness of the cabin, making Martin jump. He was putting the groceries away when he heard it, so he worried that he had been too loud and woke Jon. Martin stepped out of the kitchen, poking his head around the corner to where Jon was.

"Jon?" He asked quietly, in case Jon actually was asleep. When he looked, he saw that Jon was awake, sitting on the couch with his body hunched forward, one arm wrapped around himself. He looked like he was breathing heavily, seeming to shake with every exhale, the sound of it just muffled enough by the hand Jon hand pressed firmly over his mouth that Martin's hadn't heard it until he stepped into the room. There was also the faintest shine of dampness on his cheeks and around his eyes. Martin realized the sound he had heard was not in fact a gasps, but a sob. 

Panic shot through Martin's heart. Had something happened while he was gone? Had his pain gotten this bad? Did they need to go to A&E? The scenarios started rushing through his mind as ran over and knelt in front of Jon. Up close like this he looked even worse than he had from the distance, the far off look in his eyes and tightness of his body more obvious.

"Jon, what's wrong, what happened?" Martin asked frantically. His hands hovered between him and Jon, unsure if it's appropriate to try and touch him now. He was considering it if only to try and get his attention, since Jon was still yet to acknowledge him. It was starting to look like too familiar of a position. "Jon, please, talk to me."

Jon didn't look up from the nothing he was staring into, but his hand began to pull away from where it had gripped at his face. His damp, shaking breaths sounded louder now, and they made Martin's heart lurch. There was an uneasy few seconds where that was the only sound in the room, before slowly, Jon's mouth began to move.

He sounded broken, barely getting above a whisper when he spoke.

"Martin...where's Tim and Sasha?"

The question hung heavy in the air between them. A wave of nausea swept through Martin when he thought about it. He had largely been avoiding bringing up things for this exact reason. Part of him had quietly been hoping that it would be a much longer time before he actually had to address any of this, that he would have time to think of a way to break it to him gently. Martin himself was still coming to term with most of it. 

"Martin," Jon said again, his voice trembling even more than before, "Where are they? They aren't here with us, why aren't they here with us? _Where are they_?"

"Jon...w-why-"

"When we were t-talking about things earlier. A-about what it was like back in the archive." The words hitched as another few sobs slipped out of him, "It made me realize y-you hadn't mentioned them much before today. And with my memories starting to come back, I thought maybe...maybe I could try and remember something about them. I tried, I tried to remember them. And _it_ _hurts_. Martin, why does it hurt to think about them?"

Martin didn't know what to say. His mind was frozen, trying to think of the right way to say this, whether it was worth it to try and do this slowly, or just rip the bandage off. 

Jon mostly made up his mind for him when he looked up, meeting Martin's eyes with his tear filled ones, and cried out in a demanding wail, "Martin, please. Just tell me. Please just tell me what happened to them."

As much as Martin wanted to fall apart in that moment, breakdown right along side Jon, he knew he couldn't. He wasn't going to be any help right now if he was bawling his eyes out. Jon needed him to be strong, and that was the least Martin could do for him. Taking a breath, he steadied himself.

"They...they died, Jon."

Martin's voice was so soft he was worried Jon might not even be able to hear him. Jon's reaction, however, proved that he had heard him loud and clear. With a pained sound, Jon's body gave out, his head falling into his own lap as the emotion overwhelmed him. His hands wound themselves into his hair, his nails digging into his scalp painfully. Where before his cried had been stifled, little more than the labored breathing that had first altered Martin, he was now openly weeping. His whole body shook with each stuttering inhale, and jumped with each damp, aching exhale. There was the occasional utterance of "Oh God" and "No, no, please no" mixed in amongst the rest of his sounds of anguish.

Martin had never seen him cry like this before. It hurt to watch in a way that Martin couldn't put into words. And what made it all the worse was that he didn't have any idea how to comfort him.

"He was so angry." Jon choked out after a while.

"What?" Martin asked, making sure to keep his voice soft and level.

"Tim." Jon sounded so weak as he muttered that name, "He was so angry before he died, wasn't he? He...he _hated_ me."

"Jon, no-"

"And Sasha." Jon didn't seem to hear Martin as he continued, "I know she was real, that I knew her, but I can't...I can't remember her. I remember working with her, I remember things she did, things she liked and disliked, but I can't remember _her_. I try and picture her, o-or to remember what she sounded like even, but there's just... _nothing_. No matter how hard I try and can't see her face. Even from before the archives, it's all blank. She was my friend, I should be able to imagine what she looked like, so why is there nothing? Why can't I remember her?"

Once again Martin's hand moved to reach out, desperate to wipe away tears, to hold Jon through this, but once again Martin stopped it, leaving it to hover in the cold space between them. Jon himself had told him he was still getting used to him, so reaching out for him like that would likely only make things worse.

"I'm so sorry, Jon." Martin's words were now starting to tremble around the lump forming in his throat. He swallowed hard, trying to push that feeling away, "I'm so sorry."

Jon wept for what felt like an eternity longer to Martin. It had only picked up in intensity when he spoke about his memories of them, turning to a mournful wail that made Martin's blood run cold. Martin had wished he could have cried like this for Tim and Sasha, he had certainly felt like he could have when he had found out about them, but he had never been able to. Even when he had thought he'd lost Jon as well after the unknowing, he hadn't been able to cry like this. The emotions had all just blended together back then, so much sorrow and fear and anger, both his own and others. Back then it had all just left him feeling numb. Jon, however, didn't get the luxury of that numbness. 

After a several minutes Jon seemed to be trying to get himself a little more under control. He was taking deep, gasping breaths, trying to fight off the hyperventilation. He sat up a little more, his arms coming to wrap around his torso. His hair now fell away from his face enough for Martin to be able to see him, and the pain and exhaustion that was painted across his face.

Jon looked up, meeting Martin's eyes with his own. The only way Martin could think to describe the look it Jon's eyes was haunted. He asked in a quiet, hollow voice, "It's my fault, isn't it?"

"Jon..." Was all Martin was able to answer with. If he tried to say anything else he was afraid he wouldn't be able to keep himself together.

Jon shook his head, deciding to fill in the dead air Martin had left hanging there, "I can't actually remember any of it. But I feel... _so guilty_. Every time I try to think about them I can't help but feel this wave a guilt come over me. Even when you talk about the other - Melanie and Basira and Daisy - and I don't even know them, not really. So many people got hurt. So many people are _dead_. And it's all my fault."

Tears were still rolling down Jon's face. He was shivering now, clearly worn out from all the rest of his crying. Martin dropped his eyes to the floor. He couldn't bare to look at Jon like that on top of everything else. 

"I think the worst part is that I can't even remember enough to know what to be sorry about."

Without thinking, Martin pushed himself to his feet. He held a hand out towards Jon, not even quite thinking about what he was offering, but putting the offer there nonetheless. Jon stared at if for a second before taking it, and using it to pull himself to his feet as well. When he stood, he collapse against Martin's chest, arms coming up lazily to hold onto him in a halfhearted hug. Martin returned it, loosely placing his arms around Jon's shoulders, carful not to hold too tight. It was little comfort for either of them, but if it was what Jon needed right now, Martin was more than happy to do this for him.

Jon pulled away after a second, Martin dropping his arms quickly to let him move away freely. He swayed a little as he moved away, but he reach out and placed a hand against Martin's arm, using it to help him balance. Martin put a hand between his shoulder blades, giving him something to lean on if he needed it.

"Come on." Martin spoke softly as he took a step forward, starting to lead Jon out of the room, "We can talk about this tomorrow. Why don't you go lie down for now, ok? I'll bring you something to eat in a little bit if you want."

Jon just nodded weakly, letting himself be ushered towards the bedroom. He moved as though his limbs were far too heavy while Martin helped him into bed. Martin suspected he would be asleep by the time he brought him dinner. Martin still headed back to the kitchen, his body almost moving on its own, searching out anything to be a distraction. He scrubbed away the wetness gathering in his eyes, took a deep breath, and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this chapter (also the first one and the next one) are pretty much the reason I decided to write this fic. I was thinking of the whole "Jon forgets everything" concept, and I was just plagued with this scene in my head of Jon trying to remember Tim and Sasha and ending up having a full breakdown because of it. It just kept playing over and over and over in my head and so I decided the way to deal with it was to share it :)  
> BTW do we like how I said "oh I'm gonna split chapters up so that I don't have some random 4300 word chapters" and then wrote a 4600 word chapter. Good job me.


	7. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin has some trouble sleeping
> 
> TW: Guilt and self-blame, crying, negative self image, minor Lonely related content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So last chapter got kinda heavy there :) based on the comments I see some of you really have fun with that /s. This chapter also gets a heavy as well, but I promise, I have not lied to you in the tag.  
> And yeah, I have once again added another chapter. That one is definitely going to the last one, though. Might also be a short one too. I just had my plan for how I wanted to end things and once again this chapter would have either been like over 5000 words or crap if I had tried to fit it in here, so I'm just adding one last extra chapter.

When Martin opened his eye, the room was pitch dark. That wasn't completely unusual for him. Sleep had not been the easiest thing for him over the past few years, and the last few weeks hadn't been much better. Besides everything that had been going on with Jon, cramming himself onto the too small couch was not doing much to help. 

So, Martin wasn't shocked when he blinked away to find the safehouse still shrouded in the darkness of the early morning. 3:17am, according to his phone. Groggily, Martin sighed, dropping his phone back down onto the table. Just a little over two and a half hours of sleep so far. And as exhausted as he might have felt, he doubted he was going to be able to manage too much more. He was definitely going to need an extra cup of tea today. Or two.

At least it wasn't a nightmare this time. He had definitely had his fair share of those in recent memory. But no, tonight it was just a regular restless night, his mind refusing to fully settle enough to get any meaningful amount of sleep. In a way these nights were almost more frustrating than the nightmares. The nightmares weren't fun by any means, but at least it felt more like he had a reason to lose sleep. 

Martin leaned his head back against his flat old pillows, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the darkness, the room coming into as much clarity as it could without his glasses on. Everything around him as utterly still. Even the breeze outside was gentle enough to barely be noticeable. It was a far cry from what he was used to back in London. There, even at this hour there would still be the occasional car driving by his flat, the ever present background noise of the city always being at least slightly audible.

Here is was just quite.

The quiet was even more noticeable at night than it was during the day. At times it was almost as if time was standing still, like it had laid down to rest with the rest along with everything else. A liminal space where everything felt far off, as if you were looking at life itself from a distance.

At lest, that's how Martin felt in these moments, as he always seemed to find his mind drifting from thing to thing, eventually finding something for it to dwell on. This particular night, it didn't take long for it to be clear what would be the focus of his thoughts tonight. It was the same thing that had been occupying his thoughts for the past few weeks. It was hard not to think about it when they were still dealing with the aftermath of Jonah's statement.

It was all finally starting to feel real. The first little while everything had just been so hectic, tensions running so high for both of them, it was all just too much. It was so much easier to just not think about it too much then. Thinking about it had only made it harder to deal with, and there had just been so much to do and to worry about. He couldn't afford to think about it then, it would have been too easier to just get swept away in it, and then he would have been useless. Jon needed him too much for him to let that happen. Even once things started getting better, when Jon wasn't so scared of him and they were actually talking again, he couldn't let his guard down too much. He needed Jon to trust him, to believe him and known that he only had his best interests in mind. There were too many things that Martin could say or do that would ruin that. So many things that would just scare Jon off again, make him push Martin away. Martin had been so painfully aware of all of this these past few weeks, never letting himself relax quite enough to risk slipping up. There was too much on the line to not be on alert.

But right now it was quiet.

Things had been going well lately, too. Jon was starting to treat Martin like a friend again, be less shy and guarded. He also new about a lot of the things Martin had been so worried about telling him about, like the fears, and Tim and Sasha. Things were good.

Things were good.

Things were good and it was quiet.

It was quiet and dark and Jon was asleep and there was no one around and they were safe.

For the first time in what felt like forever, lying there on Daisy's old couch, staring up at the barely visible ceiling, Martin let himself breath. He let his body go limp as he drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the frigid air of mid November that the old cabin wasn't quite able to keep out, holding it for a second, and slowly let it out in a drown out exhale, sinking even further into his makeshift bed as he did.

He took another deep breath after that one, allowing himself to relax further, and then another and another, each one heavier than the last. 

It didn't occur to Martin what was happening until a small, unsteady gasp slipped out of him.

Martin had spent the past few weeks putting off his own emotions, not letting himself react too much, telling himself he could deal with it when this whole ordeal was over. It was something he was quite good at. His life had practically required him to be got at that. But he knew he could only keep it up for so long.

There, in the dark and the quiet, everything came crashing down on him.

With the first real sob Martin sat up, curling in on himself. His arms wrapped around his chest, as if that could provide any relief from the way it was beginning to tighten painfully. His breathing was quickly losing any practical rhythm, causing Martin to gasp even harder for air, making the hyperventilation all the worse. What little he had been able to see with any clarity was now lost to the blur of tears filling his eyes. There was a voice in his brain begging him to make this stop, to push this back down and ignore it again, but he knew there was practically nothing he could do about it now. Any of that control he usually had on himself was gone, lost to the flood of emotions that was consuming him. 

It was all just too much. Everything that happened since the statement began to play back in Martin's head. The images of Jon lying limp and half alive on the floor, the way he would contort in on himself in pain, that terrified look he'd had when he looked at Martin that first week were so clear that Martin would have believed he was living them all over again. There was just so much hurt than Martin had just had to sit back and watch, unable to do anything to help him. All because of that statement.

They'd come to the safehouse to try and get away from the mess than Jonah had dragged them into. Left everything they'd ever known behind, chasing some dream of being able to escape it all. It seemed ridiculous, now, to have ever thought it would have worked.

It had been delusional, all the thoughts he had back when they first arrived. The memory of it now felt as far off as his first days working at the institute. How could he have ever believed that they could have had that, that he could have had that. Of course something like this had happened. He's not the kind of person who gets a happy ending. He never has been. Happiness like that was never something Martin got to keep for long. 

It wasn't like he had done anything to deserve it.

He had just let himself get swept up in some unrealistic romantic fantasy, once again. Somehow he had actually been stupid enough to think that they had escaped it. And all that had come from that was that he let his guard down. He let Jon get hurt. 

Martin's hand shot up over his ears as another choked sound escaped him. He wasn't sure if he was trying to block out the sound of his crying or the voice in his head, but both of them were still ringing loud and clear for him. 

He let Jon get hurt. The thought repeated over and over again in his head. A broken record of self loathing. It was all his fault.

If he hadn't been so careless, if he had checked the damn statements before, he could have stopped this. He could have prevented all of this. Jon wouldn't have been taken over by Jonah's statement, he wouldn't have had that damn seizure, wouldn't have lost his memories, wouldn't have to relive the pain of every scar he'd gotten in the last three years. Everything that happened was his fault.

His fault.

His fault Jon was hurt. His fault Jon lost his memories.

His fault Jon didn't love him anymore.

When that thought entered his mind a whole new layer of guilt and shame and anger twisted into him. He crumpled down even further, fingers curling into his scalp, legs tucked into his chest and his forehead pressed to his knees. It's wrong that that's something he's even worried about. It's wrong and it's selfish. Jon's the one who was suffering with this. He had had years of his life ripped away from him and was injured in the process. He'd had to mourn the death of some of his closest friends all over again, for Christ's sake. The only loss Martin had had to endure with this was a relationship. Not even entirely, either. It wasn't like Jon would never be a part of his life again. Jon was his friend, he just wasn't his boyfriend anymore. That was nothing in comparison to what Jon was going through.

Jon had his entire world torn out from under him, and here was Martin, crying because he didn't get his perfect happy ending.

Selfish.

All his fault and he was being selfish.

His sobs had now turned into just shallow, whimpering breaths, the majority of his tears apparently having now been spent. His whole body ached. His throat was raw, his chest still felt uncomfortably tight, and his head was pounding. He was also pretty sure there would be bruises where his fingernails had scraped along his scalp. His muscles shook from how tight they had wound themselves up, made all the worse by the thin layer of sweat that was quickly cooling on his skin, making his shivering that much worse. He let himself wallow in the pain for a while. It at least gave him something else to focus on. 

Martin felt the exhaustion beginning to creep back into him the longer he sat there. He brought his arms around his leg and propped his chin up on his knees, trying to get himself in a little better of a position to catch his breath. He was done with this. He just needed to calm himself down enough to sleep, and then he could pretend like none of this had happened. He let the cold of the room sink into him, soothing him like a compress on fevered skin.

The cold was a familiar comfort, one he'd gotten used to in his months working for Peter. Back then it was so easy to sink into it, pulling the Lonely around himself like a security blanket when things just became too much. He'd be lying if he didn't feel like he was doing it again now. It just felt easier cut himself off from emotions like this. Even before Peter he had felt like that. 

"Martin?"

The voice startled Martin, cutting off his worn out sobs. He lifted his head, turning it to where Jon was standing, lingering in the entrance to the room.

"Jon! What are you doing up? You should be asleep." Martin croaked, his voice slightly hoarse.

Jon took a few more steps into the room, coming into focus enough that Martin could make out his sleep mussed hair and rumpled pajamas, "I, um, I thought I heard you crying. Are you alright?"

"Oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." Martin rubbed away what wetness he could from his face in a futile effort to hide the tear tracks, "I'm fine. Really, it's nothing you need to worry about. You can just go back to bed, I'm fine."

Jon continued to move towards him, eventually bringing himself to sit in the open space next to Martin on his makeshift bed. At this distance Martin could now see Jon's face with some clarity. He looked half asleep, as Martin expected, but there was obvious worry in his expression. 

"I heard you, you're obviously not fine. You can tell me if you're upset."

"Honestly, it's nothing. Just, um, b-bad dream, you know? I'm fine." He flashed Jon his best smile and began to move to stand, "Come on, you need your rest, let's get you back-"

Before Martin could even get both feet on the floor, Jon's hand reached and caught the sleeve of his shirt. There wasn't any force behind the hold, but the message it sent was clear to Martin. Slowly, he settled back onto the couch, putting as much distance between him and Jon that he could. Jon, luckily, seemed to notice and let go of Martin's shirt.

"Martin," Jon's voice was determined, and yet softer than Martin had heard it in recent memory. It made his chest ache in a whole new way. "Please tell me what's wrong."

"I...I don't know. I guess it all just...finally hit me." Martin shrugged. He glanced over at Jon who had that curious tilt to his head, silently urging Martin to continue, "Everything that's happened since...I think the shock of it all finally wore off. Finally processing it. It got a bit overwhelming, it seems."

Jon continued to look at him for a second. His gaze might not have carried the unnerving weight of the Eye anymore, but Martin was feeling vulnerable enough that he didn't need anything supernatural to make him squirm from being looked at. Jon's eyes soon fell to his lap, his face twisting into something somber that Martin couldn't quite make out. 

After a few more seconds of silence, Martin leaned in slightly, "Jon?"

"I'm sorry, Martin." Jon sighed, "I really haven't been there for you, have I?"

"What?" Martin sat up straighter, turning towards Jon in shock, "T-this isn't...I'm not trying to say this is your fault, Jon. Christ, no, that's not what this is about about at all-"

"I know, I know." Jon said, holding his hands up towards Martin as if to settle him down, "But I'm still your friend. I know this has been hard on you, and I haven't even bothered to stop and think about...how to help you, or make it easier for you or something-"

"Because you have more important things to worry about!" Martin snapped. A new wave of guilt started to wash over him. All of this was his fault, his mind reminded him. All of the pain and suffering Jon had been through in the past few weeks, and now on top of that, not only did he wake him up when he needs to be resting, but upset him with all this as well. This was all his fault and he just kept making it worse. He pushed himself up form the couch, needing to put more space between himself and Jon, "You _shouldn't_ be worrying about me right now. You're the one who's had all this stuff happen to you. I should be worrying about you, not the other way around. This isn't about me, none of this is about me."

"I don't understand why you're so upset about this." The way Jon said it was not at all unkind, but somehow that only made the spiral of emotions swimming I'm Martin's head more intense.

"It's..." Martin bite his tongue. He'd already made this bad enough already, he didn't need to go and spill his guts to Jon and make it even worse. He wanted to run, to somehow just get out of the situation any way he could. "It's nothing. Honestly. You should really just go back to bed, I've kept you up long enough."

"Martin, I'm not-"

"Really, Jon, I'm fine-"

"You're clearly not."

Without even thinking, Martin backed another step away, "Jon-"

"I'm just worried about you, is that so wrong?"

Martin wished that he could disappear, pretend like this conversation had never started in the first place "There's nothing to be worried about, I'm fine." 

"Martin-"

"I'm _fine_!"

As those words left Martin's lips, they floated into the air in a puff of condensed breath. The room might have been cold, but it was not nearly cold enough to cause that by any natural means.

Martin's hand flew up to cover his mouth when he saw it. If it weren't for the shame he felt as he watched the fog dissipate, he would have almost been impressed. He hadn't realized that he was that desperate to get out of this situation that he was willing to call on the Lonely, unconsciously or not. He suspected Peter would have been proud of him.

Jon also watched the fog that had manifested with Martin's words, a kind of grim fascination settling into his face. He stared at into the air where it disappeared long after it had faded away, looking almost mesmerized by it. He blinked a few times before he looked away, turning his head to some other arbitrary spot to stare at next. There was something about him that appeared almost calculating, like he was trying to piece something together. Martin had already told him about his time with the Lonely, and some of the effects it could have, so he wasn't sure what exactly there was for Jon to be trying to figure out. That was, until he heard Jon whisper something under his breath.

"I see you."

He said it almost as a question, the same uncertain way Martin had heard he say names that he'd remembered. A half there memory that he was trying to cling to. Jon turned to him, looking as though he had seen a ghost. 

"Martin?" Jon muttered. Martin didn't bother to try to answer him, he knew the question there wasn't actually for him. Jon said his name as though it were a word he were trying to remember the meaning of, testing out how it felt on his tongue to try and help conjure up its definition. It seemed to fit with the way he was staring at Martin, looking over the shape of him like it was something he once recognized. Someone he once recognized. Trying to put together face and name like that would give him the answer he was searching for.

Jon whispered something, so quiet that Martin couldn't quite make out the word over the pounding in his ears. He was pretty sure it was his name. The only thing he could really tell, though, was that this time Jon seemed much more certain when he said it.

Martin was froze where he stood, still trying to make sense of what was going on. He wasn't even able to make himself move to back away again when Jon stood and took a few careful steps towards him. Martin could only stand and watch as Jon came to stand in front of him, less than a foot away. He only flinched when Jon brought one hand to rest on his shoulder, and other to just graze his cheek. 

The first time Jon had put his hands on Martin like that, Martin had been too deep in the Lonely to really feel it. The hands on his had felt like a phantom touch until Jon had made him see through the fog. Right now, though, Jon's hands almost burned with their barely there contact, cutting through the cold that had wormed its way down to Martin's bones. Tentatively, Martin placed his own hand over the one Jon hand on his face, pulling the warmth in closer. Jon gasped quietly when their hands touched, but seemed to take it as his chance to move another step closer.

"Jon?"

A damp sound slipped out of Jon, like a breath that wants to be a laugh. His grip tightened even more on Martin, pulling himself in so close that Martin could see the tears gathering in his eyes and the cautious smile on his face. 

" _Martin_..."

It seemed unbelievable, too good to be true, but with that one utterance of his name, said with a tenderness than sounded just how he remembered it, Martin knew. 

He only managed to gasp before he collapsed into Jon's arm, wrapping his arms around the other man so tight that he was worried he might break him. But Jon was hold him back just as close now, arms slung around Martin's neck. The two of the held onto each other like a lifeline, hands fisting at each others shirt, tangling into hair, seeking out whatever hold they could to keep the other pressed to them. They carefully sunk to the ground, half out of exhaustion, half out of the desperate need to coil around each even more. Martin could feel the fabric beneath his face growing damp, his body having somehow conjured even more tears, but he couldn't care. The only thing that mattered to him then was how warm Jon felt in his arms.

Jon eventually pulled back, tears streaming down his own face down, his breathing quick with nervous excitement. The smile on his face practically glowed in that dark room as his hands flitted over Martin, trying to relearn the details of him.

"I remember you." Jon said, his voice reverent, the words like a promise, "I remember you, Martin. I remember you."

Martin tried to say something, ask if this was real, how this was even possible, but the words wouldn't form. Jon seem to realize this, and placed his hands on either side of Martin's face to pull him down so their foreheads touched. They stayed there for a while, Jon continuing to whisper that prayer of "I remember you" into the scarce space between them. Jon's thumb brushed a delicate line over Martin's face, lingering over his lip in an unspoken question. Martin hoped the way he leaned into the hand was answer enough.

Jon hesitated briefly, his mouth a hair away from Martin's, but then he closed the gap between them. The first touch was nothing more that the lightest brush of their lips, not even really a kiss. When Martin leaned in a little further, trying to case after his lips as he pulled away, though, he moved in again for a proper kiss, one that Martin returned readily. Jon kissed Martin again, and again, peppering kisses to Martin's lips, his cheeks, his forehead. He kissed him like he was trying to make up for lost time. And to Martin, every one of those kisses felt like coming home. 

The room didn't feel so cold anymore. In fact, Martin didn't think he had felt this warm in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was Martin's turn for the breakdown this chapter :) but his breakdown had a much more pleasant ending. We love an easy resolution to a problem lol. There has been a whole lot of crying and sadness and stuff in this last chunk of the fic. But fret not. Softness is coming.


End file.
